


Bloodline. A Tevinter fiction

by ScorpioAntares



Series: That One Tevinter [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biased POV, Breaking up and Post-, Character Study, Class Differences, Depression, Dorian Has Issues, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Feels, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Long-Distance Relationship, Lovers to Friends and Strangers to Lovers, Lucerni, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other: See Story Notes, Poor Dorian, Post-Canon, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Endgame, Post-Trespasser, Slow Burnout, Tevinter Culture and Customs, Tevinter Imperium, Trespasser epilogues suck, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, on hiatus (focus on the prequel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5329901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScorpioAntares/pseuds/ScorpioAntares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian Pavus returns to Tevinter to fulfill his laudable dreams of a better Imperium, and to assume the responsibility of a magister. With his old friend Maevaris Tilani, and a few new friends he gets to encounter among the Lucerni members and supporters, he strives to gain support for political reforms and a shift in mentality among the Tevinter Altus. On a different level, he must now discover the circumstances of his father's death, and face his deepest wounds lest the ruthless struggle for power in Tevinter destroy him.</p><p> <b>CURRENTLY ON HIATUS (I focus on the prequel</b> and this fic will be rewritten anyway)</p><p>I take my musings about Dorian, put them into a story, add OCs, evil magisters and post-Venatori splinter cults to recreate Dorian's inherent angst back home. This story contains some ideas about Tevinter, a bit of intrigue, inconvenient truths, setbacks and disappointments, eventual romance (intended as nothing more than Author's self-indulgent OC pampering) and, hopefully, a tale of Dorian's learning.</p><p>This story follows <i>If I ever return to Minrathous...</i> and evolves into a post-Trespasser headcanon AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I: The wake

**Author's Note:**

> I've been plotting this for some time. A fan fiction dedicated to Tevinter, to Lucerni, and to Dorian issues; the outcomes of my research mixed with the more arbitrary personal headcanons and ideas.  
> In general, I'd like to save canon characters' inner logic and see how they'll work out "post" with all their problems.
> 
> I gave it a M-rating for the general level of seriousness. More specific warnings to come.
> 
> Knowing the twists of my mind, this will probably turn into a mini-novel.
> 
> This is my **first fan fiction ever** , ~~and to kill the anxiety I will probably try to kill it with some bad self-irony. I apologise in advance.~~ (Also, I am open to suggestions and constructive criticism, of course...)
> 
> I will be updating the tags accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~Note 16/04/16: This chapter **will undergo major changes** as I proceed with the other fiction, _If I ever..._ , since now _Bloodline_ is thought as a sequel. I intend to replace the awkward "I can into Varric" introduction and epistolary pieces with more dense narration, so that transition between the fics looked smoother.~~  
>  Note 1/05/2016: The chapter nearly rewritten. No epistolary, no meta-storytelling introductions, pretty much Dorian talking to himself and reminiscing to kill time.
> 
>  **Additional warning** : nausea/ emetophobia

There he was, on his ship back to the Imperium, after the most exhausting (though, most rewarding as well) adventure in his lifetime since Father pulled off his best stunt performance. Unless Father's best performance was letting some thugs assassinate him, but it seemed highly unlikely _even_ that could beat his episodic ill interest with blood magic. Thinking of it, Dorian was nauseated so much he was slowly losing the capacity to keep himself together. Journeys by the sea didn't serve him well, especially since _the_ one in which Father's guards took him from Minrathous to Quarinus tied up like an animal and epically hungover, not to mention all the matters of clothing and hygiene. Needless to say, he came to hate the sea, ships and all things related.

Dorian's nausea reached a threshold he had never discovered before, echoing in the ears, in the sinuses, far behind his eyes. He kept his lips tightly shut, as he would most certainly vomit as soon as he'd unclenched his teeth, and that would be too much for his remarkable esthetic taste. Shouldn't have brought any amount of Orlesian brandy, no matter if it was a gift from Duke Cyril de Montfort for remarkable quality of negotiations during the Exalted Council. Dorian knew what it would do to his delicate stomach and subtle mind. But this was nothing compared to the nausea he slowly started feeling in his _other_ guts, sometimes kindly called the soul. That one was much worse - Thedosian healers knew to cure the body but not how to soothe terror, anguish, ambition. The Chantry seemed to be aiming at this, an it was clearly doing bad. On both sides of the schism, as far as Dorian had seen, though he had recently invested some faith in Southern Divine Victoria's bold reforms.

Apparently, the exact moment when he was agonizing on a hard bunk slowly digging in his ribs was the best timing for deep reflection on his life. He was never good at starting anew, and even worse at returning to his old places. As long as his Father was alive, he could keep the promise to avoid his family home in Quarinus, and Asariel, father's holdings by the sea - the place which used to be prosperous before the Qunari invasion, but turned into ruins swarmed with lost and curious spirits, just like Marnas Pell, to slowly recover and become a massive latifundium. Crops grew well on corpses, Father knew how to tame the spirits, and insisted that his only son learned the same.

As an ambassador, Dorian could afford to visit father's home in Minrathous a few times without conjuring a grimace of shame onto magister Halward's face. Not much of a title, but it was more than any outcast from the Altus class could expect. Now, as it turned out, Dorian was restored from the gutter to palace cushions as the only heir. After all, blood ties meant everything in this world, regardless of any other ties. It would be too naive to think that Dorian would be allowed to return without becoming the head of the family, with all its joyful inventory. First, there was the Pavus estate in Quarinus, the heartwarming vine and fig tree where he'd experienced his first bitter life disappointments. Then, there were slaves, servants, guards, supplies and accounts, politics, alliances, strives and plots, gossips and frayed reputation. Then, his father's place in the Magisterium, with even more pressure to strike him in the back without mercy. Finally, he would have to reunite with his mother at some point. Maker only knew what she was doing now, roaming free around Minrathous, released from her life's _second_ greatest burden.

Ironically, the life he had never actually wanted now came to reclaim him, but this time he was ready to take the challenge and to stand for what he thought was right. At least that was the rehearsed story he told himself. All he wanted was an honest life in a decent land. But to obtain it, he went back into the vipers' nest to hedge himself with death and deceit. Not a life he would like to show to his friends... Let alone a life to which he'd wish to _invite_ anybody, even though someone was evidently interested. Dorian couldn't be himself in all these difficult conversations explaining that it was _his_ thing to do, that the people he cared about would put themselves in unnecessary grave danger. Iron Bull pestered Dorian to take him along, but the mage caught an impression it was said just to make him feel cared for. In practice, the prospect was immensely complex.

"What would you do with the Chargers? _You're_ the key to their success and prosperity", Dorian persuaded on their last night together, in one of the finest guest chambers in the Winter Palace. "You know how much Krem looks up to you. They can't simply all gather to live in the the Imperium. They would have to work their ten years of servitude to become citizens. And I don't know if I ever acquire enough power to protect them from abuse if that occurs. The most endangered ones are you and lieutenant Aclassi. What would you do, hide him and keep bribing people to leave you alone? Turn your Chargers into a private protection squad? For how long? There's plenty of people who would gladly hook up to your personal history, to use it against me and against Inquisition's accomplishments. I wouldn't invite a guest I care about just to grant him free invigilation and assassination attempts. It's a rather bad idea for acommodation, as you surely can imagine."

"But I know it all, _kadan_. I've been trained to cope with it. Invigilation and assassination are Ben-Hassrath's daily bread", Bull was stroking the mess of Dorian's black hair on a bed encrusted with dragon bone and redwood from the Donnarks.

"And do you want to be reminded how it ended for you the last time?", Dorian cried out. "That is just _one more_ reason you should stay away from Minrathous." Bull grunted, realising that this time Dorian couldn't be persuaded.

"You know what I always say. If a moment comes you _really_ wanna end it, I won't hold you back. If this becomes a burden to you, I'd move on. No hard feelings." Bull stared at him in the unchangeable manner, nondescript and overpowering at the time.

"But... I do _not_ think I want it to be... not now", Dorian turned his head, squeezing a chilly royale silk pillow in his arms. If he let _this_ chance go, would another _ever_ come? Especially in the Imperium which taught him there were _no_ chances for defiant aristocrat bachelors like him? He wasn't ready to cut any Southern ties off. Not unless it would be absolutely necessary to keep Tevinter affairs away from his friends.

"Maybe the tables will turn pretty soon. I don't know. I was hoping to accompany the Inquisition a bit longer, whatever the outcome of the Council", he sighed. "I _should_ be in Skyhold with all of you when it ends. Make a proper goodbye. But that's unlikely. If I don't return to Tevinter as quick as possible, they will question my inheritance of the place in the Magisterium. Maybe the entire inheritance waiting for me. House Pavus has many minor lines relegated from power by my ancestors. I could miss a golden opportunity to establish influence we will need to think of any changes", he rose from the bed and leant against a cold, marble sill of a slender arched window. "Maker, now I sound like I'm craving for it all", he mumbled under his breath.

"But you always said it's just a tool. You know what you're in for, right? You won't turn into a typical Vint overnight."

"It all appears easier from a distance", Dorian looked his blurred face up in red stained glass and turned back at Bull. "I received just one pair of communication crystals. They guard the patent in Minrathous as if it were a cure for the Blight itself. And I've decided to give one crystal to the Inquisitor", he looked at his mate with apology. "I _must_ know how she feels during the recovery, no matter where the fate takes me. I was hoping you'd understand."

"Sure thing. Everybody's worried about Boss. We'll figure something else out."

Bull's faithfulness was an enigma: he assured he cared, stirred Dorian's excitement up, pampered his little quirks and whims, like Orlesian chocolate candy or embroidered silk handkerchiefs. Whenever they made love, Bull made sure they both outdid themselves. What Dorian received was much more than he could have expected otherwise, so he learned to appreciate it without further demands. But whenever there was a personal issue the Tevinter wanted to discuss, he always encountered the same wall of indifferent consent. No sign of protest, no anger deeper than fake offence at silly teasing, no indication what Bull really expected from him. The single time Bull called for attention right after Dorian arrived at the Winter Palace, it was just so Bull could tell him he was "the sweetest guy" and "the only one Bull needed". The big sap could finally stop oscillating between novels recommended in _The Randy Dowager_ and obnoxious sleazy talk if he wanted to make sense in the matter of _feelings_. They surely became companions, friends. But Dorian could never tell if Bull could grasp the uniqueness of their relationship. And he couldn't make hard choices for them both.

"I spoke to Arcanist Dagna. Unsurprisingly, she said the technology was no secret to her", Dorian half-smiled under his breath. "But it will take time to order proper resources and build a couple of prototypes. For now, we'll have to get by with raven correspondence."

"Sure. We'll be hangin' around Northern Orlais and Nevarra. I'll let you know when we get closer to Caimen Brea, or to the passing near the Imperial Highway."

So, Dorian and Iron Bull decided to stay in their curious arrangement for the time being and meet occasionally in the borderland until the situation cleared out or turned into an utter disaster. Hopefully, Imperium's everlasting contempt for every nation but Orzammar dwarves wouldn't ruin this at least with another brawl in the Silent Plains.

The first arrangements in Minrathous had been made. Maevaris Tilani had already moved in to form an alliance, and she wished to see Dorian as soon as he straightened his family affairs out. It was arranged that Dorian returned as soon as the Council ended. Observing how the intrigue had been played out in Orlais made him realise that he was far behind in plotting murder and deceit, enjoying the levity of ostracism and his ruined reputation far too much. A pariah elevated as a magister, to strike confusion, shock and disgust in the hearts of his opponents – what a perfect opportunity to breach more absurd rules of the Altus mentality and attract inconvenient attention. Dorian reached his pocket carefully, still lying in foetal position on the bunk, being rocked to stupefaction by the reckless Waking Sea. Friends wrote him letters to be opened only when he reached Minrathous. Dorian's mood was spiraling down, and brandy would only make it even worse, no matter how thirsty and itching he was. So, he started contemplating.

To summarize Dorian's experience of the previous two years: one friend (for life, hopefully) gained and almost lost in the possibly world-ending conflict. One old friend lost to his sad but inevitable fate. Several other friends gained, now scattered to the wind. One relationship nearly established, except neither of them knew how to even start. Another relationship actually established, allowing Dorian to officially apply for the status of an utter disgrace to the Imperium. Father visiting the South to bend Dorian's ear, successfully told to examine his backdoor. Dorian learning something about elves outside Tevinter. One person considered everybody's knowledgable friend deconspired as an ancient elven deity. One ancient elven deity deconspired as the actual creator of the Veil, now aiming to destroy the feeble balance between the Fade and the physical realm. Both Chantries' claims about the Fade and the Blight partly falsified in favour of the of ancient elven and dwarven mythology. One Qunari invasion nipped in the bud, partly thanks to the said elven deity. One entity claiming to be a member of the ancient Magisters' Sidereal defeated in his attempt to bring the Black City back upon Thedas and replace the new decadent Imperium with the legendary Old Glorious Imperium Restored. One occurrence of physical intrusion into the Fade observed, and Dorian had better not tell about it anybody back home. Gereon Alexius seized, judged for his involvement with a mad supremacist cult, and used as an agent to work against them. In other words – lots of things Dorian would normally deem unimaginable managed to happen at a breathtaking pace. And from now on, he wouldn't have time to rest either.

At the very moment, 'rest' appeared a blurry concept since the sailors decided to howl their favourite shanties out of key. A poor excuse of a choir, chirping seagulls, or ducks, or... whatever the apt comparison was, Dorian still felt like spewing all over his cabin. It seemed like a short while, but apparently Dorian managed to take a short nap in this malign. Songs behind the wall died, just as reckless swinging. All that was left was the malicious hiss of the Waking Sea, and hasty stamping on the ship deck. The ship had doubtlessly arrived at the port. Dorian grabbed his belly and lifted the body very slowly, hardly overcoming the dizziness in his head. He clinged to the wall for a while. Cabin boys pottered about and one of them offered to take the trunk with Dorian's humble possessions out. Straining his voice to warn about the lute he was carrying, Dorian walked towards the lights outside. The sharp Nevarran sunshine struck him like the worst hangover. He instinctively leant on a board before he could move on.

" _Faste_ ", he mumbled. "Who put this bloody sea between Orlais and the North..."

Though perhaps the more valid question was who put Dorian on the miserable quest in his homeland right at that time, when he'd rather be _anywhere_ else.

 


	2. II: The rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is welcome by Maevaris Tilani and finds some time to reflect upon their long-lasting friendship. Then, they share some news, and Mae produces some unsuspected fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on I intend to build the drama. For now, it will be based on a relatively balanced, objective, and boring course of events. For a few episodes in advance, Dorian will be basically talking to people and/or talking to himself. 
> 
> My impression on Mae Tilani is based on 'The World of Thedas' and the comics trilogy about saving king Maric. I will try to flesh her out a little. I also follow a trace from Trespasser that Aquinea Thalrassian is not exactly doing well.

"Dorian, my little bird!", Maevaris sang in a voice which stayed a bit too low despite all the efforts to make it a sweet treble. "You look terrible. Have you lost weight? Did the Waking Sea mistreat you so badly?"

She wore a long light blue tunic made of fine linen, with thin shoulder-straps, perfect for the end of the boiling Tevinter summer, and a pair of long silver earrings. Maevaris Tilani would never show herself without earrings. She learned to smoothen her sharp facial features up excellently.

"Never mind me, I'm just a bit sore after the journey", he replied.

"I'll tell the servants to prepare a hot bath for you, then we will dine and talk. Make yourself at home. You are my guest until they officially present your father's will", Maevaris twittered, embracing Dorian's shoulder. "Do not worry about anything."

Magister Halward decided to keep all the Tevinter on their toes until his precious son and wife heard his last will in person. What a marvelous way to reunite the family. For what it's worth, Dorian's father's last move turned several pairs of eyes in Tevinter to the South and the Exalted Council, and in this regard it was quite clever.

"Maevaris, tell me the truth. Is my father's house still standing, or is it slowly being plundered of all its belongings?"

Mae's face went somber. "I've been there just to check out. It's a mess, Dorian. The servants are faithful, doing whatever they can to save face, but it was always magister Halward who gave orders and controlled the situation. His _maior domus_ is a true hero if you ask me, such a well educated slave... Some say, not a slave for long anymore. Your father had a debt of gratitude, they say. Of course, he left the guidelines for his subordinates just in case, but such situations are never easy. And Lady Aquinea... she doesn't seem capable of running a home at such a time. Between the two of us, she never really has", Mae's straight, symmetrical nose wrinkled a tiny bit.

"What a marvelous beginning", Dorian snarled. "There's already too much on my head even before Father's will has been acclaimed."

The mother was not capable... This must have meant that she went on a bender after father's death. That was as clear as day in Northern Thedas. When Dorian came to visit during his ambassadorship, Mother was either really drunk or hiding behind a hangover to avoid him. It was hard to say whether his mother was slipping back out of misery or our of happiness. The latter was much more likely, as being a part of the House Pavus had slowly turned her into a bundle of nerves. Nonetheless, Mother was quite good at playing the Game whenever she was mentally fit. If there was anything Aquinea Thalrassian could ever teach her son, it was three things: to always try to keep the straight face, to look good, and to hold his liquor. She probably was not able to combine all of them anymore, but at least the liquor seemed to hold on to her very firmly. At least Dorian would spend more time in overall making a decent appearance.

"Try not to think too much for now. You'll set this straight, one step at a time", Maevaris stroke his coal black hair with a gentle swing. Wedge-heeled shoes made her taller than Dorian by more than a head. He had only just come back from Orlais, and Maevaris was already pampering him as if he was made of glass. Not the most desirable kind of treatment.

"I need you in shape this evening", she went on. "We're dining with our little Lucerni and with magister Heracles Nigidio, Archon Radonis's third cousin once removed. Apparently, he's interested in joining. From what I've heard, he's not very fierce. He spent the last two years goofing around, sassing some Laetan girl and trying not to get killed. But if he has any mind of his own, then we cannot underestimate his vote. Unless our dear Kallikrates intimidates the guest with his subversive views on slavery and _mores_ , we should win his trust. Besides, I'm dying to hear about all the Exalted Council affairs from your perspective. Oh...", Maevaris called, remembering something. "Livia Herathinos will be there too. She promised to shut her pretty mouth unless _you_ provoke first. I suppose squabbling with her for so many years has become a _tedium_ for you, so good luck. Try not to kill each other. She has grown claws like a wyvern, if you ask me."

"Having enemies even in your own circle. What a neat surprise", Dorian sang.

"We need the support of House Herathinos", Maevaris replied firmly. "Your father has done great effort to mitigate their anger after years of your defiance, and now we must make sure that they don't _suddenly_ remember their dishonor. Fortunately, Lord Octavius is a relatively tolerant man and he declared not to hold a _personal_ grudge against you."

The old friend took him to the southern wing of her city villa, to the guest room with walls upholstered in soothing green fabric and a large window pointing at the richest district in Minrathous, overwhelmed with decorative plum trees and lush, trimmed boxwood sculptures. The servants were bustling about the room, making the final arrangements before the room would be filled with life again. Funny how even a few days of rest in the Winter Palace couldn't get Dorian used to luxury once again. The guest room was placed right next to a private bath with toilet bowls, a stone tub, and floor heating to keep the stone delightfully warm in the evenings – the technology given to the Imperium by the dwarves as a token of everlasting friendship. It was nothing like Orlesian outhouses or Fereldan bushes in the middle of a meadow. Tevinter hydraulics were an expression of the most sublime esthetic taste, and Dorian couldn't wait to dive into hot bath with calming incense.

For now, things went surprisingly well, considering the pressure of recent events. It had been weeks since he received a notice about father's death, yet he did not know what to think about it, or how he should have felt about it. He did not need to grieve, but neither could he say he was relieved. The Inquisition kept his mind busy, just like in the old times. The warm bath made Dorian remember the rare moments of leisure in the Inquisition, the charming landscape of the Hinterlands, and all the things that used to annoy him so much: Bull and Sera sticking their nose into Dorian's affairs, Blackwall scourging Dorian as if he was afraid of some kind of harassment, Cole nagging him to be educated about the affairs of bodily pleasure, Dorian himself looking like a drowned rat in the Fallow Mire. How much he would trade now for a moment of this petty annoyance.

One could expect that he would now mourn magister Halward. Dorian had mourned once, if ever, but with Felix it was completely different. He had had to accept this imminent death years earlier, a waste of a man better than Dorian himself, as he agreed to admit. Yet, after they had seen each other for the last time in Redcliffe, Dorian was touched deeper than he should have. He tried not to give himself away to the Inquisitor and others. He would hold on as long as he had good company and some killing to do, but as soon as he was left alone in his quarters, he started feeling like trash. Dorian would never cry on somebody else's shoulder, and he got used to spending his lonely evenings drinking, reminiscing, playing lute to chase the gloom off. Week after week, it somehow went by.

Now, a thought flashed through Dorian's mind that there was something malicious lurking in his soul, right behind the curtain of everyday awareness, that would cause a disaster if released. What if he wouldn't make it now that he had a clear purpose, too much to lose, and when he couldn't put his mask of an outcast on anymore? The water was slowly cooling off, and Dorian would hate to catch a cold in summer just because he was sensitive to changes in temperature. The servants prepared him the least worn out outfit he possessed at the time: a crimson vest made of fine Vyrantium samite with gentle black embroidery, and matching tight black trousers. "Now I'll also need new clothes", he sighed. His neck and back still felt a bit sore and strained after the jouncing travel by carriage. The Imperial Highway by the High Reaches was in a desperate need of renovation. "Is this what it's like to be getting old? But I'm too young to get old", he muttered. Dorian took some time to put his hair, eye make-up and mustache in order, and he moved on to the dining room.

"Tell magister Tilani that I am ready to see her", he instructed an elven servant. He lied on a chaise longue by a tall window, and cropped some grapes from the nearest low table. He had a moment to appreciate the bustle of the luxurious district of Minrathous once again. Elegant ladies were strutting around Plaza Benedicti, with heavily powdered faces, delicate lace sunshades, and leashed domesticated fennecs by their side. A well-dressed merchant was peeking out from the haberdashery shop across from Villa Tilani, the one which always made mother's eyes glimmer with passion. Dorian was home again.

He wasn't entirely sure whether Maevaris would even wish to talk to him after his abrupt escape years ago. They used to be best friends when he was a child... well, at least Mae used to be _his_ best friend. Their fathers knew each other very well, and enjoyed discussing political and social issues. Little Dorian and Maevaris visited each other in Quarinus very often. Tilani was significantly older. She had officially lived as a girl since Dorian could remember. When he discovered that he was different as well, Maevaris was the first person to whom he turned for advice. She was the one who taught him to be faithful with himself, no matter what.

Dorian was the more feeble of the two. He was drafted from one school to another, always alone when he needed others most. Maevaris could always count on her loving father. Dorian envied her this love too many times. It became more and more obvious that Tilani was steadily becoming a great person, and Dorian – just a troublemaker, thinking more highly of himself than he could prove. But one day, she stopped coming over with her father. Magister Tilani had faced some horrible accusations and Archon Davan demanded execution. That was when Father became obsessed about his own reputation. Political turmoil went on. Maevaris became a magister despite a torment of pettiest hatred and mockery. Davan was overthrown by Radonis of House Consuex, a mage with relatively progressive views, suffering from exceptional alertness and wit. Father put Dorian in the school of the Order of Argent, a place which would still give him shivers when he passed it by. It was basically a custody for the defiant Altus children led by a radical Chantry splinter. They wanted to teach Dorian to hate himself, to consider his distinctness and defiance a moral failure and punishment from the Maker. To seek refuge in severe ascetic rules and remorse. Iron bunk beds, cold showers and endorsement of self-discipline in arse whipping.

Of course, it did not work. Girls and boys would do all the forbidden things twice as intensively in high conspiracy. The place was overwhelmed with smuggled alcohol and exotic intoxicating weeds. There were other boys who liked boys, girls who liked girls, people who didn't discern, and everybody knew who was making out with whom. At first, the atmosphere of rebellion was intoxicating, but Dorian quickly started feeling out of his element. Back then, he still wanted to be a good boy, even though it never really worked. He never was good at bullying, and some of his peers expected much more than a quick tongue in exchange for respect. Even though he could protect himself with his magic, he was terrified with a prospect of a scandal.

He could not take it. He ran away after three moths of perpetuate toxicity with all his belongings, and there was not a slightest chance that Father would listen to his story. The Order of Argent was Halward's last resort, and its failure meant that Dorian was completely intractable. To let all his frustration out, Dorian went to the shadiest corner of Minrathous, and for the first time in his life he sought comfort for money, with elves whose names he would not even remember. Miraculously, it was nobody else than magister Gereon Alexius that found him that day and took him under his wing. Then, after a few years, when Dorian was slowly showing his relatives that he was worth being called a _human being_ , Alexius went mad from grief. Dorian put even more pressure on his mentor, like a fool, and he rubbed it in that Alexius should move on and be grateful for what he had. They fell out eventually, Alexius was gone without a trace, and Dorian went to the slums again. He drowned his face and sold himself for a mess of pottage as soon as he went out of pocket money. He evaded all messengers from Quarinus, not suspecting that one of them could have been sent by Maevaris Tilani instead of Halward Pavus.

She had already been an acclaimed magister for several years, having tasted true love with an Orzammar representative until he died "by accident". Dorian was still just a washed-up kid denied the right to his parents' riches. He had only just caught up with his magical studies, his career in the Circle had been forsaken once and forever because of Alexius. Soon, Dorian earned for his own great scandal. Some things in Tevinter were meant to remain private, and whenever they slipped out in public, all the nobles puffed up in indignation and accusations of debauchery were thrown like outdated _tesserae_. It had been long suspected that Dorian did very private things with other men. No matter how exaggerated some of these rumours were, they must have struck Tilani very hard. When Dorian ran away from home, she offered him shelter for a while, aided him financially, but became more distant and cautious. They didn't even correspond that often.

Young Pavus was somewhat relieved when Maevaris replied to correspondence sealed with the emblem of the Inquisition. He sent her a few words, saying that he was fine, that he might have finally found refuge for the time being, that maybe he could return someday to execute these reforms Alexius and their fathers had always mentioned. He even asked forgiveness, an unusual thing among the proud Pavus breed. He needed to give Tilani a proof that he had not yet become a complete loser. Mae did not respond but ambassador Montyliet passed him kind regards, and that was something. Mae had always been one of these rare friends for whom Dorian would sacrifice almost everything.

In the Inquisition, things went slightly better once more: he became Inquisitor's friend, deflected an unexpected invasion by his Father. When Corypheus was defeated, young Pavus felt ready to look Tilani in the face again. And he did, as he returned to Tevinter for a short time as the ambassador to the Inquisition, but he could not be sure whether Maevaris would be as open and trusting as the years before. But she was. A magnificent, understanding woman he remembered: strong, adamant in her decisions, selfless for her friends and furious when made angry. As Orlais had its Vivienne de Fer, the Imperium had Maevaris Tilani whose name didn't require suffixes. When Dorian paid her a short visit in Quarinus, she was the first one to accept him back home without a trace of awkward reserve – him, the outcast, the wayward son of Tevinter. Still, he was hesitating to open up to her once again. But if somebody had ever known Dorian Pavus, who else than the Alexiuses, Lavellan, Bull and Tilani?

Dorian lost the thread as Mae approached him with a wide smile and sat on the chaise long to his right.

"Lost in thought? I'm afraid I must disturb you. Since we're not doing the Lucerni business yet, I'd like to know: how was the Exalted Council? I've read the reports, of course, but I'm dying to hear _your_ version."

"Simply magnificent! The entire world is in grave danger", Dorian exclaimed, with sudden frustration glimmering in his grey eyes. "The Qunari almost invaded the South because they thought that we, the Inquisiton, were cooperating with an ancient elven deity. And they were right, because we used to have the Dread Wolf, the legendary trickster and traitor, in our inner circle, as an _incognito_ elven apostate. He wrapped Seeker Pentaghast around his finger, always so willing to give good advice and share his knowledge about the Fade. We even talked about thaumaturgy sometimes", Pavus spilt sarcasm. "You're not Dalish, Solas, you're not a city elf, and you appear to be a _dream walker_ , so, who are you really? Not that the Inquisition is already a panoply of peculiarities, but isn't this secrecy of yours a bit suspicious? - Oh, I don't know, _Tevinter mage,_ maybe you can tell me? - No, nothing suspicious here, you must simply be a very special snowflake!", Dorian snapped, obviously switching accents to imitate somebody else. Then he rose and started stomping in circles, his feet rumbling on the marble floor.

"He fucked the spy network over, including Iron Bull's reports from the times he was yet a Ben-Hassrath, seduced the Inquisitor and broke her heart, and escaped with remains of Corypheus's ancient orb which was probably a _somnaborium_ that created the Breach. Then, he reappeared during all the Council mess like a proper villain and took his little toy from Lavellan's arm, because – guess what? She'd eventually _die_ carrying it around, and Solas has been such a concerned paramour!", Dorian spat out. "But there's more of the bad news. Fen'Harel was the one who created the Veil. He's not even a _fucking magi_ , his powers are far beyond magic we know. And now he would _fucking_ merge the realms, and bring his fellow ancient gods back, because he holds this world in contempt, watching as his beloved elven nation has ended up in the gutter as slaves and oblivious nomads, exploited by Tevinter and slaughtered by the Chantry. Not that much different from our dear late Corypheus, is he? I'm not suggesting that he's entirely wrong, but if I ever see the man I knew as Solas again, I will savage his throat with my bare hands, even if I stand no chance. I _would_ do it. For Thedas and for Lavellan", Dorian raised his voice again.

"Oh, dear", Tilani called. "This Fen'Harel sounds appalling, but he isn't exactly a threat we can do anything about."

"No, he isn't", Dorian hissed, trying to contain his anger. "If anybody can help us now, it is the Maker himself", he looked away at the window. "The Inquisition has dispersed, and Lavellan will keep searching, but it's really... beyond reason."

"You are right, it's all beyond reason", Tilani admitted. "But many incomprehensible things have already happend in this age, don't you think?", she pondered for a while. "Wait, did you say Solas? Like the Solas holdings on our side of the Silent Plains?", Maevaris frowned.

"I have no idea", Dorian shook his head and hid his face in his hands. "That trace would be too obvious, but... In the hindsight, we have overlooked too many obvious details. I really don't know."

"If you're still in touch with the Inquisitor, we might check this out."

Pavus half-smiled and switched to a more cheerful tone. "True enough. We should wait for another big miracle, with the old gods rising and sky falling apart, and do some smaller miracles of our own in the meantime. All that waiting could become a little tedious."

This weren't exactly the knews Dorian would like to bring to Maevaris, but among all the things he could ever do flawlessly, his sincerity shone the most brightly. Tilani also stared at the window, pondering about what she had just heard. Dorian occupied the couch again, this time trying to lie down with his hands on his head.

"Well, that is a toughie", Tilani sighed eventually. "But since we're speaking about miracles...", Tilani bit the tip of her finger, "You mentioned you had someone. A _real_ someone." Dorian hid his face in his hands again.

" _Vishante kaffas_ , is this an interrogation? Yes, I had, but I don't think you're ready for that news, Maevaris", he spat out with embarrassment. Bad at pretending as he usually was, he wasn't able to spin a tiniest lie to Mae.

"Me? Not ready? Is it scandalous _even_ judged by your standards? Well, you have my curiosity anyway, magister Pavus", Maevaris Tilani grinned.

"Uh... let it be your way." Maevaris deserved to know everything she wanted to know. He found a little courage to spit it all out at once.

"I have mentioned Iron Bull, haven't I? A Tal-Vashoth. Also, a former agent of the Ben-Hassrath, retired from Seheron, who was observing Orlais, currently leads his mercenary band in the South... Not a human or elf converted to the Qun, but... a _Qunari_ -Qunari. With horns almost as wide as his shoulders. How can I say it? It was a serious thing... It will remain, I hope. In the Inquisition, it was widely accepted. Everybody in the inner circle was discreet about it, except for Bull himself. At first, he was making the worst, the most _disgusting_  remarks to win my attention. Not only a savage, but out of his mind as well, I thought. And then, one night, I got a bit too drunk and heated up like a stupid teenager, and that's how it all started. Surprisingly, he could be tamed, to some extent. In the end he called me his _kadan_. Wanted to come with me. I must have persuaded him out of it", Dorian spoke with his entire face covered in a brick-coloured blush, and Tilani's light blue eyes grew bigger and bigger. "We might meet again from time to time, but I don't suppose this will last, considering... the circumstances..."

" _No shit_ , Dorian", Tilani cursed, and whenever Maevaris Tilani cursed, you could tell that the shit got serious. "You and a bad-ass Qunari? A spy?", she tried to process the information, and eventually she roared with laughter. "I can't even imagine how you two solved it... anatomically...", she tried to speak while guffawing on the coach. Really? Was that the first thing to consider? - Dorian sighed heavily. Luckily, Maevaris was lying down, otherwise she would be swiping the floor with her dress by now. Luckily, her cleavage wasn't one of those which could spill out without control while she was half-hanging from the couch, with her bright head turned upside-down and staring at Dorian with pure delight.

"Yes, Mae, my love affairs must be terribly amusing. I know", Dorian sighed under his breath.

"But you enjoyed it, didn't you? Old pervert", Tilani called. Dorian blushed in disgrace even more, internally and externally. He _had_ enjoyed it.

"I didn't expect much at first, but for what you can expect from the horned breed... It turned out almost excellent. Full of passion. He found so many things that turned both of us on. And he showed concern, deep inside. Pampered me like an old hen at times. And he was the first one to suggest that this could be more than the sex, though I'm not sure if he gets the difference... Hate to admit, I will miss him so much, Mae."

"Well, I can imagine", Dorian's old friend smiled. "You made my day, sweetheart. With both the bad and the zesty news", Maevaris wiped her tears with long fingers and assumed the sitting position once again. "I think we should prepare for dinner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 16.07.2016 (general correction)


	3. III: Discernment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another rather static moment. Several figures from the Lucerni are introduced, and some other original characters are mentioned.

The heart of social life in Minrathous had been recently beating in Maevaris Tilani's chest, and she was overjoyed to take the responsibility. She had always enjoyed getting things done, seeing her plans set in motion. The dinner with the most recognisable figures from the Lucerni was a mere trifle and Maevaris intended to enjoy it to bits. She liked it old-fashioned, on the ancient couches which allowed the guests to recline. This way made it much easier to control the drunk ones, and the servants had more space to walk around. She chose to serve a choice of light and simple vegetable pâtés with fresh wholemeal bread and sweet yeast rolls. Mae gave the privileged place on her right, usually taken by host's most precious family member, to Dorian Pavus. The dear creature deserved some comfort for his delicate bones, and Mae wanted to send a clear message about her alliances. In the court games, every gesture had a meaning and every oversight could make you a laughing stock, if not the next assassination victim. But Mae was prepared to sacrifice _a lot_ to warm Dorian's shattered reputation up and help his little heart of gold get through in the Magisterium.

Against Tilani's seat, the main guest, Heracles Nigidio, was being entertained. He was a thirty-something man with smooth tan skin and hair decorated with bird feathers. Apparently, these quirky details poorly imitating elven customs were all the rage among the Altus, thought it might have seemed outrageous and definitely was reckless. Between Dorian and Heracles there were two fresh boys from the Lucerni: the zealous slave liberator Kallikrates Labrusci and the inspiring but very timid Augustus Ephidios. Dorian made a great effort not to look ahead, to the seat taken by his former unfortunately betrothed Livia Herathinos, a pretty, resourceful, but also bitter and cruel woman (the latter with a major contribution from Dorian himself when the scandal broke their engagement). Her allegiance with the Lucerni took everybody by surprise, and Mae has only just bargained a silent truce between Livia and her ex-fiancé. Fortunately, Dorian preferred to avoid the woman at any cost, as she developed a nasty habit of throwing insults at him at each and every party since he ran away from his family. By Black Divine's beard, it had been almost six years, and Dorian grew old by at least ten at a glance. He could have been mistaken for a teenager for long, until he slipped down into his anguish. He even grew this silly mustache so the people stopped referring to him as _the boy_. Obviously, this could not change so easily, as the downgrading label had been attached to Dorian because of his never-ending escape from great expectations, not his looks. But the poor hot-headed Pavo always forgot about such subtleties when he was being insulted.

"Magister Tilani, do you happen to have any news about the dreamer of Kirkwall?", Heracles Nigidio asked with a polite smile. Mae brushed short wavy hair with her fingers and sighed lightly.

"Unfortunately, the man named Feynriel vanished. According to my sources, he was supposed to move from Perivantium and be prepared for the enchanter examination in the Circle in Carastes, on Archon's special request. But he simply disappeared. Radonis is at rage. He lost his new pet. He was already pressing the Circles to hasten all the procedures, so he could appoint the dreamer as a magister as soon as possible."

"And kill somebody to free a vacancy", Nigidio sighed.

"Bad news", Dorian mumbled. "With Fen'Harel roaming around wherever the Fade may take him, our world cannot afford another dreamer gone mad."

"I think we should contact Varric Tethras. Perhaps the boy just got tired of the pace and our daunting climate, and reappeared in Kirkwall", Maevaris suggested.

"Doesn't hurt to try", Dorian stared into his cup of wine only not to meet Livia's glowing brown eyes.

"Doesn't this man happen to be of the elven blood? I heard that he looks more elven than human. Such a rarity. If it's true, I wonder if these two are connected: rare complexion, and his being a dreamer", Kallikrates spoke. "Imagine the agitation: ancient elven blood in Archon's good graces, with such a great power..."

"That is... confidential", Tilani said. "Half an elf or not, a dreamer is not safe in Tevinter even under Archon's personal custody, unless he dreams of storming the Black City with an army of blood mages", she curled her lips.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Radonis had tried to make Feynriel the Dreamer his successor, if only the man was capable of taking this role. Certainly, kneading him to Archon's will would take some time. But Radonis was ready to pay the price", Livia mentioned. "The late Halward Pavus was bending over backwards to win Archon's support, and he was doomed to bitter disappointment anyway", she said with her squeaky girlish soprano and a complacent smirk on her face. Mae saw with the corner of her eye that Dorian squeezed his cup tighter. Just keep it cool, honey, her tantrums aren't worth your anger.

"Any other prospects for our organization?", Dorian asked with the contour of his jaw painfully sharpened.

"Yes, I have received several letters. One's quite interesting. The former governor of Alam on Seheron, a retired minor Laetan, almost assassinated on the watch. He says he wants to withdraw from slaying people in war and do some good instead. He introduced himself as a strategist. I'm not sure what exactly he could do for the Lucerni, but you could use his aid in your little private Venatori purge", Tilani turned at Dorian. "I'll show you the correspondence later."

"I also happen to know an interesting person. My... close friend", Heracles joined. "She is a promising spirit healer. She has just only returned to Minrathous from a scholarship in Vyrantium where she was doing research on protective spells. She does not like to brag about it but... she's deeply interested in the work of Lady Andralla."

"Andralla? The one who dedicated her life to developing repellents to blood magic? Almost assassinated three times, eventually fled to Ferelden?", Pavus asked lively and took a sip of wine. "Fascinating. I've heard her magic did miracles in the Fereldan Circle Tower during the Fifth Blight. That name isn't spoken very often, but if it is, it literally makes blood magicians shit their pants", Pavus chuckled. By all the Archons, was it Mae overthinking or had Dorian already managed to get tipsy? Maevaris promised herself to inspect the cellars next morning.

"You have granted that woman our attention, Magister", Maevaris smiled. "Which of the houses allowed its daughter to pursue such interests?"

"Actually, none of the prominent ones. She's a Laetan", Heracles's gaze descended in slight abashment.

"That... may pose a bit of a predicament", Dorian mumbled. Mae scolded him with a theatrical frown. He nodded with apologies an elaborated: "All I mean is that the Laetanes are usually forced to walk a more difficult path on their way to recognition."

"So, you're speaking about one of these blood-thirsty woolly-backs who would kill each other for a magister's seat?", Livia asked, and even the servants waiting in the corner felt the bile flowing out. "How sweet."

Herathinos, has the wine already come up to your little snooty head? So, she promised to spare Dorian but did not take the other guests into account. What a cheeky...

"We hold a harmful preconception of these people just as they do about us, my lady", Heracles talked back. "I can assure that serah Ligannis isn't a trouble at all."

"I've, I've met several Laetanes, and they were the most hardworking people you could imagine", Ephidios joined in.

"Oh, spit it out, you say it because she's your..."

Oh, not on my watch, sweetheart. You're pushing your luck.

"Herathinos, honey, don't ruin our evening, if you may", Tilani said sharply. "We're trying to be friendly out here", her voice sounded calm but the other guests could feel terror arising in the air. Mae taught them not to take her smiles at face value.

"I think I have used enough of your hospitality, magister Tilani. The dinner was delicious, and your hosting abilities remain remarkable as always", Herathinos changed her tone immediately and left without saying goodbye to anybody else. Thankfully, everybody in Tevinter knew that Mae did not like being disrespected, and that she could show her discontent in many cruel ways. After the servants walked Herathinos to the door, the atmosphere improved in a blink of an eye.

"Well, that was predictable", Dorian giggled once more. "Shame she didn't recite her standard litany of insults toward That Pavus Dog."

"You are impossible!", Mae spanked him in the hand and smiled playfully.

"Magister Pavus, pardon me an intimate question, but... were you two actually betrothed, you and Lady Herathinos?", Nigidio asked in disbelief.

"If by betrothal you mean being selected at birth or shortly after as a future breeding herd, and not seeing each other until you reach adolescence, then yes, I had this pleasure. Livia seemed much less amused about it than me. She values her appeal, not without reason. She was must have been truly delighted when I preferred running away to fulfilling that absurd agreement. She might have been relieved much earlier, but any other match seemed a _mésalliance_ to her parents", Dorian smiled and his eyes went slightly blurry. This poor sod had done it again, he started reopening his own wounds to pose as the martyr and the reject. Mae sighed under her breath.

"I know the pressure of arranged marriage, and I admire your courage to reject it when it would have done you harm, magister", Heracles bowed.

"Oh, oh", Dorian chuckled, "Many noble families including my own would think quite the opposite."

"We should stop giving wine to magister Pavus, or he will fly away in no time", Maevaris nodded at her servants. "Let us discuss other matters."

"Bbb... but this is an important issue, my Lady... if I may", Ephidios interrupted, prepared to meet Tilani's ice cold glare. But she knew that Augustus was a good bright boy, and gave him an inviting grin instead.

"T-the way arranged marriages are achieved is just one example of a widespread pattern. Upbringing among the Altus appears to provide the most disturbing models. The social pressure put on our young magi, the weight of success, and the self-absorption necessary to fulfill parents' ambitions, can turn out very damaging to their wellbeing. As a tutor-enchanter and dormitory caretaker in the Circle, I have spoken to an entire generation of young magi already. The very few Laetantes elevated from the Soporati class I have encountered seem to be much healthier, more stable in their feelings, and resistant to demonic threat. And Circle enchanters usually try to mangle these children so that they hated their commoner origin, and only wanted to pursue success as their highborn peers. This is simply... sick, if I may speak my mind. This produces the worst kind of social climbers that have gained Laetantes their reputation."

"Precisely, my dear Lord", Dorian spoke vividly, his cheeks flashing in the colour of brick once more. "And if you ever want to discuss the effects of growing up as a potential Archon, or whatever title you wish to insert, I have plenty of amusing stories to tell."

"I think most of us do", Nigidio added.

"A general reform in Circle education and the advancement of awareness brought to the Soporati should allow us to slowly change the situation", Labrusci replied.

"If only it could be so easy", Dorian chuckled. "A beautiful thought, to make everybody love each other just because they can all attend a coeducational university like the one in Orlais. No offense, Lord Labrusci, but your enthusiasm appears inadequate at best."

From arranged marriage and the casual Altus grumbling how the poorest weren't necessarily the most miserable, the discussion went on to fine arts and the state of renovations in Minrathous. Finally, the guests persuaded Dorian to tell some stories from Ferelden and Orlais. At first, he pretended to be ashamed and tried to weasel out of it, but Maevaris knew very well how her dear friend craved this kind of attention. Besides, as he was telling all these stories about investigating high dragons, the Inquisitor closing a rift in the middle of a lake, and ancient ruins buried in the sand of Orlesian Western Approach, Dorian's eyes glimmered with genuine passion and happiness. Apparently, he was in his element during all these adventures, even though he spent more than two years walking around earthy, soaking, freezing, and getting bedsore from the austere Fereldan accommodation. Mae hadn't met this part of Dorian yet. Always just as fascinating as troublesome.

The evening ended with no casualties and no injuries except for Livia's pride, and that was enough to consider it a success. Hopefully, that would teach Herathinos a lesson. No victims were intended, but social life in Tevinter was a risky lottery, an even the best preparations may have not save you from an exotic poison or a secret Qunari agent among the servants. Fortunately, magister Tilani learned to act flawlessly, especially after a very nasty blood mage named Aurelius Titus managed to threaten her safety. But Titus was long gone, Mae's personal agent network – air-tight, guards – devoted, reflex – deadly. When Mae made sure that the servants were doing their job cleaning the dining room, she retired to her chambers, humming under her breath. Heracles Nigidio could be considered an ally.

The next morning, Maevaris was already wide awake when a carriage appeared at her mansion. A carriage with the symbol of House Pavus, two golden serpents intertwined, on the striped sapphire and deep green background. So, Lady Aquinea was in haste after all. Did she count on her own share in the inheritance? It did not come as a surprise that she would send agents to know when exactly Dorian would arrive. Because of the long-lasting friendship between the houses Pavus and Tilani, the agents of both stayed out of each other's way. But it was highly unlikely that Aquinea Thalrassian was longing for her son. She started evading him as soon as he confessed that he preferred men, and after his escape from Quarinus she stopped showing any concern at all. Yet, Thalrassian must have called officials and Magisterium representatives to Halward's estate as soon as Dorian arrived.

Mae was reluctant to torment Dorian with the thought that his father had been a _very_ predictable man, and that he probably did not divide the best bits of his property between second cousins while he had a son, even if this choice would inevitably lead the Pavus legacy to a dead end. Nothing to be envied, honestly. The sheer amount of money possessed by House Pavus could make one's head spin, and there were also two mansions with servants, holdings with a vineyard southeast from Minrathous, bills of sale, works of art, and so on. Besides, the circumstances of Halward's death could not wait to be discovered. If this was more than a personal bone pick, and none of Halward's errands had ever been only personal, Dorian's life was threatened as well. It was vital that he'd hedge himself with the authority of House Pavus as soon as possible. Old Halward genuinely loved treading over people, and his attitude could now rebound upon Dorian. The official presentation of the will was only the ultimate act of dominance, the last stretch of Halward's long shadow. The shadow that had always crushed Dorian with its weight.

The messenger from Lady Aquinea was told to wait while Mae's servants woke Dorian up. He greeted Maevaris with an absent gaze and a painful frown.

"So, it began, didn't it?", he asked with a forced smile. "Dorian hits the jackpot and becomes the richest and the happiest man in Tevinter."

"Now what's with that dramatic tone? Isn't this what you already are?", Maevaris tried to cheer him up. "You know you'd have to deal with it one day. Try to face it like a proud member of the Inquisition", she added more seriously.

"Yes", he replied, totally distracted. "I'll be back as soon as we end it."

"I hope so. I'm dying to know who took a bottle of Agrisio Pavanii from my inventory."

"You know me too well", he moaned goodbye.

Dorian shuffled out of Villa Tilani to the carriage, and as the doors shut behind him, Maevaris could only wish him strength.


	4. IV: The revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halward's last will is read out, Aquinea Thalrassian makes a short appearance. The verdict is quite predictable, but only now does Dorian get his belated reality testing for father's death, and he starts the process of grieving. Auntie Mae comes to comfort him, pampers him a little too much, and young Pavus has several uncomfortable conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a bit of Dorian's self-loathing, sad remarks about slaves, and episodic alcohol use.
> 
> When writing Halward's last will, I referred to the last will of Aristotle of Stagira, cited by Diogenes Laertios in 'Lives of Eminent Philosophers'.

A bundle of nerves. Not good, not good. Why did Father even put up this show? Hadn't he ever got tired of marking his territory all over Tevinter? Dorian cropped the turn-ups on his sleeves nervously, sitting on an antique chair in father's private office in Villa Pavonis. He was increasingly irritated by a little crack, slowly devouring a vine ornament on from the wall ahead. Mother did not rush to join, as the notary from the Publicanium had not yet arrived with the official copy of late magister's will. The greater the house, the more pompous their social rituals were, and the more bureaucracy was required to run any errands. Especially when somebody was born or when somebody died. Dorian rubbed his eyes with a hand very gently, being aware of his make-up, and tried not to look frightened. Usually, he would hide his discomfort from others pretty well, but this situation was completely unique. He started fearing that he would not make it, that his dreams were far beyond his ability to put up with this... everything. Even though Mae greeted him like an old friend, the detachment from Bull, from the Inquisitor, even from Sera, left him feeling more and more empty on the inside. He did not want to leave. He was not ready. Not yet.

Silks scraped the floor, making young Pavus turn around. It was Mother, in a long black dress with a sweeping trail, with her face all covered in white powder, and long hair wrapped in a headscarf entwined with golden embroidery. She turned her look away blankly and took a seat next to Dorian.

"Good morning, Mother", his greeting pierced the empty hall.

"Good morning", she answered in a rough low voice. The silence followed.

It felt a bit relieving that Mother wasn't in the mood for a chit-chat. After all this time, he would not even know what to say. She avoided him even when he came for a visit – here, to Villa Pavonis, not longer than two months prior. Yet, her silent presence was simply hurtful. He took a glimpse of Mother's profile which also happened to be partly his: slightly protruded forehead, a slim aquiline nose, slightly lowered mouth, and a funny pointed chin. She used to be named the black beauty after the mane of curled hair and distinctive eye contour, one that Dorian could never achieve even with the help of kohl. Dorian could never really love Mother, but neither could he really hate her.

The official came in, and Dorian almost stood up from habit. The notary was assisted by yet another person. A magister... Livia's father? The official cleared his throat and swept the room with a nondescript look. He bowed to each of the witnesses and recited a short official introduction. Then, he broke the seal on the piece of parchment he was holding, and started reading out loud:

> May the Maker keep me and my family in His good graces, and grant us with good health. Yet, were any misfortune to strike me unprepared:
> 
> I, Halward Pavus, the head of House Pavus, pure Altus blood twelve times removed, a magister to the Imperial Senate, Lord Governor of Asariel, securing the well-being of the future generations, hereby prepare my final will to be executed by the official servants of the Imperium and my friend Octavius Herathinos.
> 
> Were my life to come to an end suddenly, preparations shall be made immediately to introduce my only son and heir Dorian Pavus to the Magisterium in my place. All the other regulations shall only be made after he has returned to the Imperium. I wish my last will to be read out in the presence of my wife, my son, and the executors of this testament, thereby confirmed to be announced to the Archon and the Senate.
> 
> To my dear friend Octavius Herathinos I leave the management of my collection of Orlesian artwork, as a token of gratitude for his long-lasting friendship and a compensation for the burden of guarding my last will.
> 
> My honorable wife Aquinea of house Thalrassian shall be left our palace in Quarinus with all the necessary amenities and with servants of her choice. All the family errands in Quarinus are left at her discretion.
> 
> To my only son and only heir, the latest scion of House Pavus...

Maker, let it all end already. No matter how. Just end it.

> ... belongs my place in the Magisterium with all the benefits of this position, as well as the family estate in Minrathous with all the servants and amenities at his discretion. Our steward from Minrathous, Lucius, shall be liberated in recognition of his talent, and if he chooses to leave House Pavus as a free man - endowed with a decent house in the artisan district, a pension for the rest of his life, and physical protection from the House.
> 
> With all the misunderstandings between us left behind and forgotten, and with my trust in his modesty and wisdom, my son is also hereby appointed the new head of House Pavus,  _Par inter Altes_ , and the Lord Governor of Asariel. I leave him the management of all my property in gold, land, and securities to be put to noble use, and the entire collection of books and manuscripts bearing our house exlibris. May he bring kindness and strength to our name, with Maker's assistance.
> 
> So I have spoken.

Had Dorian not been sitting, he'd most certainly collapse on the floor. The verdict was predictable, sure it was. But only now, as it had been _performed_ , Dorian felt the real heaviness of its words. Everything, everything on his head. Given to a pariah, to an outcast who half-forgot how to move around the court.

Mother must have seen how devastated Dorian was. She reached for his hand, just like that, without warning. The most cruel moment to bring each other closer. For the moment, he was too dizzy to resist. And he desperately needed... someone. _Anyone_.

Some official gibberish was filled in later, with everybody's signatures, the confirmation of Dorian's birthright, and the notary giving him a fake formula combining condolences with congratulations. A sequence of events merging into a stutter, Dorian's head buzzing, making him lose composure and seek support in chair's backrest. After old Herathinos and the clerk left, Mother was standing by the window, looking Dorian up and down while he was leaning over the chair, feeling like falling apart. She was silent for quite long, a haunting black figure, but she finally asked:

"Would you like to lie down?"

"N... no, I'll be fine. I must go soon, I still have my things at Tilani's place."

"I can arrange your move. As well as a visit from Maevaris, if you want."

"Many thanks, Mother, but I'll - "

"Don't pretend that you can run house errands just like this, all alone, after all these years", Mother interrupted, looking at him with merciless hazel eyes. Vicious silence followed.

"I'll send for Maevaris. Then I'll change and prepare to move out", she said again after a while, walking out of the room.

"M- mother?", Dorian asked faintly. She turned at him again.

"Would you like to dine together... in some time?"

"I'll be pleased", she responded blankly and walked away.

Of course that Mother was right. Dorian did not feel capable of handling the simplest issue. For a few days to follow, the house was bound to remain a mess, with the steward liberated and one third of other servants moving back to Quarinus. The correspondence for Dorian had been probably piling in the office since father's death. For the time, he needed to dissolve the lump in his throat.

He took a stroll through the common room with a fireplace and walls covered in historical frescos. Taking his time, getting accommodated. Staring into the empty fireplace. Finally, he plunged into an armchair lifelessly and slowly let the feelings consume him. Only now did he acknowledge that Father was gone, forever. There was supposed to be pain, he thought, there should be relief as well. No more spitting at each other over old grudges, at least. That improvement was in fact Inquisitor's doing. "Listening never hurts, Dorian. At worst you will strengthen your old convictions", she said in Redcliffe's Gull and Lantern. "At best..." At best, he heard real remorse in Father's voice. A promise of reunion which might been more than one of the flashes in the pan, times when Father promised to change his mind but returned to his old self within days, once again bragging what would make _him_ most content, what  _his_ optimal scenario was, accusing Dorian of treating his father like shit and purposeful defiance against the only sensible option. How many times he'd hear: as long as you're my son, you will do what I want. Whether Dorian was his son always and forever or only on a whim - Father could never make his mind.

Dorian sat in the armchair, hiding the face in his hands, trying not to go mad from the inarticulate noise that was pounding in his head. Much as Father had caused him mostly pain and guilt, he was still Dorian's greatest role model when it came to values and the worldview. He taught Dorian to seek justice, to bring the virtues of the Imperium out and criticise its vices without bias. Not a bad man whatsoever, simply too imposing, blinded with pride like many before him. A haunting, judging face of constant disappointment. Refusal to tolerate any path unwalked by the revered ancestors. Dorian felt tears gather in his eyes, and was almost ready to burst, when he heard a gentle shy voice from behind:

"Master Pavus? We did not know you'd move in immediately. Please excuse me the incompetence", a middle-aged, well-groomed elf was gazing at him with large green eyes. "Would you require any assistance?"

"I haven't moved in yet, actually", Dorian said through his nose. "I was just... hanging around. May I stay alone for a while?"

"Of course", the elf bowed. "Pardon my incivility once more, and please accept sincere condolences."

At the sound of the word 'condolences', Dorian could not hold it any more. All his body trembled, and the room was filled with relentless sobbing. Gone? The power and prominence of Halward Pavus were so great that he seemed practically invincible. As long as House Pavus existed, Halward could not be entirely gone. For Dorian, this awareness was equally reassuring and devastating. He wanted Father away, he wanted Father back. There was no remedy for this asphyxiating bond. Dorian sniffled in a totally unfashionable way, realising that he must be looking terrible.

Now, the leash was ultimately tied to Dorian's neck. Home in Minrathous, magister's position, holdings in Asariel, knowledge gathered for generations, and a disgusting amount of money. "To be put to noble use." As if Halward was expecting his son to spend half of it on binges. Oh, there were also Alexius's affairs, an unintentionally bothersome gift from the Inquisitor. 

Always demanding, never trusting that his expectations could be fulfilled completely. Always disappointed, and expecting even more in return. As a punishment. As a lesson. All Dorian's success taken for granted. Teaching Dorian himself to take success and appraisal for granted. Whatever path young Pavus took, it kept him dead empty on the inside. Until the day he ran away from the awful school. Until he met Alexius. Later on, the Inquisition was the first real isle of peace on Dorian's ocean of sorrow. But the Inquisition was no more, all Dorian's struggle to live on his own terms – wasted. He was always only a scion in this cursed vine. In as much as he refused to rear another scion and wear the saddle of Halward's magnificent prospects – useless. If he didn't manage to change anything in Tevinter as he wanted, his departure from Iron Bull and true friends from the South would also be useless. Only his father could be cruel enough to punish Dorian with power, presenting it as a generous gift while it was the thing he despised most.

Gone. And what now? He didn't have the foggiest idea. The murderers of his father had to be found, certainly. But that required time. There were many more wearing, boring tasks to be performed. All the proper introductions into the murderous social life of the Magisterium, into being a good governor, a good _pater familias_ , head of a noble house. _Pater_ , how ironic. Dorian would never bring children into this wicked world even if it were physically possible. Not after what the world had done to him.

Dorian heard someone approach loudly through the corridors, puffing at the staircase. He knew very well who it was. Only one person allowed in this house would stay empowered in the current situation.

"My, my, your mother almost overdrove the messenger. The poor boy could not catch a breath when he found me", Maevaris called out and put a worried face on.

"Now, how do you feel with the revelations?"

"Horrible. How am I supposed to feel", he moaned. Mae sat on the armrest and embraced Dorian's head.

"Mae, there's no need - "

"Don't try to play a hero", she scolded him gently. "Even heroes allow themselves to break down. If you need me, I'm here. In fact, I can even indulge you a bit. Here," she pulled a bottle from behind the armchair. "You can have that Agrisio you tried to sneak out. Today I'm turning a blind eye to your little dirty habits."

"I don't think... Not right now", Dorian replied.

"Well, tomorrow's another day, isn't it?", Tilani asked. "For today, do you have any thoughts worth sharing with auntie Mae?"

"I don't think I should concern you with my gloomy blather. It has only just reached me, it will pass. I just need... a few days."

"Dorian, let's be brutally honest", Mae's tone became more serious. "We both know how these things _have_ passed for you so far. No matter what happens, now you have a reputation to keep. You can gnaw the walls if you need to, and that's completely understandable. But please, don't indulge in any obscene pastime. Especially in the lower city districts. It could even threaten your life, under the current circumstances. Many harpies can try to take advantage of the current chaos", she carried on, stroking Dorian's hair. Just excellent. A perfect timing to call him out for the past and present vice.

"You have quite a nose to poke in my affairs", he grunted.

"This nose has learned to sense whenever you're about to cause trouble", she replied, unchangeably kind even with a tint of disapproval in her voice. "And I need you to be a good magister."

"That's unlikely", he grumbled. "Just look at me... I'm a disappointment", his voice cracked again. "Always at my father's feet, like a dog, as soon as he showed any interest. I realised something, Mae. I was always the greatest liar, selling myself for his wishes. I used to blame my father for everything, I carried this image that I'm the honest rebel fighting for what's right... But I have brought it all over myself. I'm just an outraging hypocrite, just like he used to be. I was fooling myself that I could be a role model too, but that's just absurd! I'm a downright failure, Maevaris. A failure who's now supposed to rule an entire noble house."

"Oh, just don't get wound up for self-pity. The day you ran away and later on, did you sell yourself out? Was the Inquisition a lie? Think about the time when you defined yourself in your own terms, my dear", Tilani explained patiently.

"Which terms of my own, exactly? Let's be honest, Maevaris. Have there ever been any terms that my father hadn't predefined?", he cried out.

"What about the man who befriended half of Inquisition? Who has stopped Alexius in Redcliffe? Who has won the trust of the South? Don't lose the sight of your accomplishments. You were that man when you went to Ferelden all alone, Dorian. And I'm sure that the sweet Inquisitor would agree with me."

He fell silent for a while, but could not stand the burden of the atmosphere in the villa, still unstirred by the changing of the inhabitants that was about to come. Out of a hundred thoughts that were storming his brain, just one question came out:

"Are you disappointed with me too, Mae?"

"And you want me to be honest, don't you?", Tilani sighed heavily. "Why not at all, sweetie, not at all. I think you're that little brother who always makes a lot of mess, but is also the most loveable. Because when that little brother looks happy, all the birds want to sing. Not that I know what it's like to have a little brother. Or do I?", she smiled gently. "Anyway, you'd have to try very, very hard to disappoint me. And I would give myself away at once. Now, try to calm yourself. I'm free today, I could stay with you and listen to all your revelations if you need..."

"Don't pamper me like that, Mae. It's humiliating", he replied.

"Grief does not humiliate you, Dorian. Neither do friends who try to soothe your pain. Self-loathing and reproach do."

"I'm sorry, Mae. It's just... I don't think my melancholy is worth your concern. You're all important now, with Lucerni, and your career, and I shouldn't indulge you in my - "

"Let me decide about that. Remember that you are a part of the Lucerni, and some people in Tevinter keep their fingers crossed for you. They need you to be strong."

"Always under pressure", he grunted.

"Dorian, remember the time when they killed my papa? That's how you forge your strength", she said firmly. "You must endure, and all the bitterness won't help you."

Mae finally decided to give up preaching and say goodbye, promising to check in as often as Dorian needed. The head of house Pavus stared at the bottle of Agrisio Pavanii for a moment, and then his stomach rumbled reproachfully. He had been so busy on that day that he did not get a chance to eat. Not that he cared until now.

Dorian did not know any servants yet, the man whom he had already seen wasn't in sight. So he decided to find the kitchen on his own. He spent a while getting lost, lurking in the chambers, learning to move around the villa. He found a little charming bedroom with a balcony pointing at the atrium backyard, and a double bed with wooden carvings and a canopy, one of those that were made in the Free Marches. Quite cosy, compared to the grandiosity of the entire house. This could become his place.

He rambled on downstairs, through the ground floor filled with common space and servants' quarters. Finally, the scent of food reached his nostrils. As he entered a hot, spacious hall, dozens of elven and human eyes turned at him with bewilderment. They knew who he was, after just that one glance.

"Oh, never mind me, I was just passing by. Or rather... Uhm, actually I have a business. I've got a bit hungry. I could get some food myself, but I suppose that would insult your people's hard work, so... Take your time, I can wait", he tried to explain with embarrassment. He had spent too much time in the wilderness, without a servant to fulfill his whims and fancies. He had spent too much time with elves who were his equals. Domesticity with slaves now felt much more awkward than when he was a child. The awareness was tormenting: every elven face in his kitchen could be Lavellan or Sera.

Somebody approached him from the back of the room – the same well-dressed elf he had met before walked him out of the kitchen and asked what exactly he wanted.

"Oh, it's you, good man... my apologies, I haven't even ask your name before."

"It's Lucius, my master."

"Pleasure to meet you, Luc... Wait, you're the one! Father set you free, didn't he? Shouldn't you be running away right now, to embrace your freedom?", Dorian asked, totally dumbfounded. He should have bitten his tongue. A free elf in the Imperium had no future, and Father knew it. He gave Lucius the illusion of choice, as he usually would, and he knew the outcome in advance. Even if protected by a prominent house, a liberated elf did not have a bright future ahead of him in Tevinter. Former slaves, if only they had been lucky enough to find a good house, had little choice but to stay as free servants. An elf equalled the poorest kind, and the Minrathous slums equalled the most miserable place in Thedas. Shame to admit, Dorian could confirm it with his own experience. Only a sewer in Kirkwall felt worse than Minrathous slums. They were constantly pulsating and morphing by the city walls, slowly biting its way towards the centre with their stench of urine, smoke and boiled cabbage as the Soporati got poorer and poorer. A miserable mixture of humans, castless refugees from Kal-Sharok, elves (the rarest), struggling Soporati, prosperous cut-throats and _servi_ _publici_ delegated to their duties in recognisable plain grey tunics.

"That would be highly unprofessional. I will stay willingly until Young Master finds the replacement he considers satisfying. If my abilities manage to impress Young Master as they pleased his late father, I will be delighted to accompany you."

"Well, I don't have a ghost of an idea where to look for a steward, so I guess it's good to have you here", Dorian admitted. "No need to be so official, either..."

But Lucius didn't seem to listen. He asked Dorian if he wanted to eat in the great dining room. Dorian replied that he would feel more comfortable somewhere smaller. There's a table in the atrium, the elf smiled. Young master could eat in the fresh air. It was a good deal. Dorian felt quite despondent even though he was starving, and the presence of plants made it somehow easier to force the meal down. He told Lucius to thank the cooks and returned to the common room upstairs, to grab the lonely bottle that had been calling him for some time.

Strong ancient wine promised a moment of forgetfulness. Dorian entered the room he chose for his private quarters, and fell on the bed softly, trying not to shake the bottle too much. Who needs a cup on a day like this? Dorian Pavus was no amateur. He took a large deadening swig from the bottle, so fierce that it started to pinch in his eyes. A blush ran through his cheeks. Soon he swallowed his wine mixed with tears as his tired mind slowly went pleasantly numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: 
> 
> Verantia Ligannis, the free healthcare OC, offers an _ad hoc_ solution to a certain serious problem, and she brings some of my heretic headcanon lore about protective magic and Lady Andralla. Also, she meets Dorian and Mae, and admits that not all of the Altus are bad.


	5. V: The rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verantia Ligannis, OC, receives an untypical request concerning Dorian Pavus and the Fade. The request allows her to share some geeky stuff about her research. Halward Pavus makes a final appearance in the Fade and is allowed to speak his mind. Ligannis saves the day and gets to know the magister a little bit closer, though he seems rather anguished. Mae is impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I show some cheap fluffy Fade onirism, and introduce some headcanons about Andralla. It features the Fade, demons, some action (finally) and Dorian's daddy issues.
> 
> I'd like to give additional credit to [this](http://lorastyrell.com/post/90100500495/homosexuality-in-tevinter) enlightening entry.

A small, tidy two-story house, now owned by the Ligannis family by right of their advancement into the Laetan class, had untypical visitors on that day by the end of Justinian. The family was breakfasting together, celebrating the recent return of their youngest daughter Verantia from a five-year delegation to the Circle in Vyrantium. She made it for the Summerday to join the procession with her entire family. After her Harrowing, Vera got permission to live with her family and attend the Circle only for official business, unless she was granted a trainee. It was unimaginable how much one auspicious mage could help an otherwise poor Tevinter family. Her father Celsus used to be a humble blacksmith. After the official recognition of Vera's abilities they moved from the smelly nondescript mass of the lower city to the hills where the mages and rich artisans lived. He could afford to run a decent shop, and he even accepted commisions from the city guard sometimes. The price for this prosperity was not very burdersome for him: to stay in line, obey his superiors, keep away from the politics. As a non-magical person he had little to say in these matters anyway. This apparent ignorance in the things discussed at the top allowed him to work undercover, among the poor ones.

As a pious man, he taught his children to help the poorest, and the richer he got, the more he was willing to aid the inhabitants of Minrathous slums. He was bursting with pride that Verantia offered her healing abilities for free whenever she could. The name Ligannis had been well known in the slums, as the name of benefactors who brought reassurance. With a reasonable amount of money spent on bribes, Celsus could even found some renovation without official permission from the Publicanium. The lower officials did not mind, some of them might even have approved. The aedile of Minrathous turned the blind eye. It was common knowledge that the Magisterium would not care about the slums even if certain magisters were dragged there by their hair to see the scale of neglect. Not that they were frequently seen in one particular location on the verge of slums and the lower Soporati market, actually an undercover brothel for all the Altus who wanted to conceal their love affairs. A funny thing it was: whatever happened in the slums, stayed in the slums, and inhabitants' life never really changed.

Verantia Ligannis was reaching for another yeast bun, sipping stripweed tea from fake Antivian porcelain and chatting with her eldest brother Julian about Vyrantian ornaments and little peculiarities of their architecture. The serenity of this morning was ruined as soon as a couple of templars, fully armoured, almost tripped over Celsus when they were storming their house, and demanded to speak with Verantia. The girl looked at them with her jaw dropped.

"I can't remember having broken any law recently, my good men", she said with moderate self-assurance.

"It's not about any crime, my lady. A confidential business to be personally discussed with magister Maevaris Tilani", a templar replied, his voice rumbling through a heavy helmet shut tight. "The carriage is waiting outside."

Maevaris Tilani? _The_ Tilani? What would such a prominent magister want with Vera? Certainly, her research could have reached somebody's ears and raise a few eyebrows, but to drag her out of home in the morning... She had no choice but to obey. She bode farewell to her family and entered a richly decorated open carriage with some Altus heraldry embedded here and there. One templar took a place across, the other sat next to the coachman. The horses trotted quickly to the richest district of Minrathous, placed on the tallest hill high above all the mess where the Soporati lived, with its spires aiming even higher, to tear the sky down and take the Black City back, as educated people sometimes joked. With the Proving Grounds intimidating the entire city with its shameless greenery while the lower districts looked _and_ smelt of boiled faded cabbage. On her left, Vera could see a massive bridge connecting the city centre with the mainland. The Minrathous water pass, couched with tiny buildings, ships and footbridges, was glimmering in the freshly-risen sunlight.

So far, she had only seen the most abundant district of Minrathous from a distance, from between the Argent Spire and the Abyss of slums separated from the richer districts by the second layer of city walls. As the carriage climbed through narrow streets of the artisan and merchant quarters, the houses became more and more trim, more and more abundant in decoration. The carriage passed by the Vivazzi Plaza and entered one of the widest alleys in Minrathous starting from a "triumphal" arch trying to present the Battle of the Nocen Sea as a heroic struggle of the Imperial Navy. Some of the oldest buildings were kept from collapsing with magic, with loose stone parts levitating above the streets like tiny islands. One could immediately tell the difference in the number of templar guards, three times as great as anywhere else: in the gates, on the rooftops, patrolling the streets. Street patrols outside were much more frequent so the Altus could use some privacy. The nobles on the streets were dressed in an extravagant fashion, carrying gold-plated staves and other rich man gibberish. Some of them wore masks like the Orlesian nobles, some covered their faces with ridiculously brave make-up.

The carriage stopped at the gates of an old villa, with a faded mural depicting a peacock on each pillar. House Pavus, a name whose sound made the whole Tevinter tremble. Wasn't Vera supposed to be speaking with magister Tilani? But the mage who greeted her outside and let her through the guards was doubtlessly the alabaster pale, fair-haired woman known by any self-aware person in Tevinter.

"You're a healer, aren't you? A very specialised healer? Magister Heracles Nigidio told me about you. I won't lie to you, my dear, I'm asking you to help my dear friend magister Pavus. He needs to overcome a serious... indisposition", magister Tilani said. "Sorry for all the haste and fuss with the templars, it's just... really serious."

"H-help? Me? How could I - ", Vera stuttered.

"Just follow me and see it for yourself", Tilani said. Vera was taken through a spacious courtyard with rose shrubs into the mansion, to magister's private chamber with a large bed canopied like those made in the Free Marches. A man was lying there, a motionless sleeping magister, surrounded by a circle of worried servants. A bit boyish and quite sweet, dark caramel skin with messy black hair and fancy facial hair which must have appeared fashionable to its bearer.

"He's been unconscious for over two days now. Simply fallen asleep, and nobody managed to wake him up. I'm afraid he's been trapped in a nightmare, and if that's the thing, then we cannot risk his becoming an abomination", Tilani said grimly. "Are you familiar with such a situation?"

"Only from theory. But I suppose that a strong mage can resist demons for that long, withholding his return to the physical realm", Vera replied. "Something must be done quickly."

"Can you do anything?"

Vera hesitated for a moment. "I know of three options else than killing the patient right away. The first one belongs in sacrificial blood magic." And that wouldn't be the best option. Vera studied blood magic only to know the enemy and the countermeasures. "The second would require help of a Dalish keeper. The third one... is a ritual of a completely different nature, designed by Lady Andralla. It is almost unknown, scattered around treatise excerpts. I spent a couple of years trying to reconstruct its course. And I'm not sure if it has ever been tried it in practice."

"Is it less drastic than the other options?", Tilani asked.

"A combination of protection spells and projective techniques used in the Harrowing. I could cast myself into magister's part of the Fade without bloodshed. We would be bound together by protective magic within a glyph, sustained by a mage outside the Fade. Then I could fight whatever is keeping him inside like in the Harrowing, and we'd return together as soon as I succeed. In theory", Verantia said earnestly.

"And I assume that you're ready to perform it, as the person who knows the ritual?"

"Since I've dedicated my life to these studies, I feel obliged to help. I would only request that you assist me, Messere."

"Straight to the point... I like it", magister Tilani smiled.

"There is one more thing... If I fail, I probably won't manage to recite the Litany of Andralla to stop the birth of an abomination", Vera added.

"Can this thing even be recited?", Tilani's eyes grew bigger.

"Actually, it's a massive chant written in ancient Tevene. The rites known as the Litany are compressed enchanted formulas made for the commoners to be used anytime. It's quite a long story."

"Something tells me that you are priceless", magister Tilani said.

Verantia took a while to sketch the protective glyph on the floor with white chalk. The servants carefully carried the sleeping prince into the glyph, wrapped in a sheet to prevent any abrupt movements, with arms crossed on his chest. He looked almost like a Nevarran mummy prepared for being sealed. Vera sat on her heels beside him, she cracked her joints in arms and neck, and started the lyrium ritual. A blue vial invited her with a sweet scent as she asked magister Tilani to focus energy on the glyph. The room filled with bright greenish light, and Verantia started reciting the formula: 

> _Tenebrae luminosa_ , let me cut through the Veil as the thought cuts through oblivion, cast my soul into the dream of a wretched man, let me walk the path of sorrow to be hurt by the light of truth...

Then, she swallowed the bittersweet contents of the vial. The chamber blurred and bursted with vivid colours, then it changed its shape. A silent chaotic murmur came to her ears (some called it a song, but Vera could never hear any _order_ ), and she remembered the advice she has been given many times by her spiritual master: in the Fade, focus is essential. Before her consciousness altered, she found Dorian Pavus's hand to maintain physical connection... and she was on the trip.

> Only lead me through the righteous path, see the chastity in my heart and mind. May the Fade work in my favour with Your grace, _Visio clarissma_ , _Cor vulnerabilis_.

Vera was now in an endless space under the overwhelming, greenish sky, with several small upsetting black figures somewhere far away. Verantia had never been in anybody's personal space created in a dream before. She took a while to get used to the environment. A small garden shone ahead, attached to a beautiful ancient palace, all alone among bottle green rocks and Fade's thirsty grey soil. The ground sparkled with tiny shards, like snowflakes or grains of sand by the Nocen Sea.

Verantia saw two figures that looked human. This could be a trap, she knew it very well. The question wasn't whether there were any demons. The question was: whether there was a sloth, a despair, a desire, or something even worse. The garden was tempting: springing palm trees with outspread leaves tickled her, and little heads of desert roses were smiling with a valiant, welcoming blush. A small cloud of butterflies was dancing around – those with funny spots on their wings that were sometimes called peacock's eyelets. The view was too beautiful to be true. Like from a bard's romance tale. Vera wouldn't be surprised if a desire demon arrived on a unicorn to complete the picture.

Two men were standing in the middle. The younger of them was her patient, most of his body embedded in stone, as if he was about to turn into a statue. His head and shoulders appeared flesh and bones but he did not move or speak, with a lifeless stare anchored onto the ground. His shoulders were lowered, a golden amulet hung on his chest, legs instilled in an unfinished step. He was quite a beautiful statue, though filled with obscure sadness. The other man looked at Verantia.

"You came after him, I suppose? From the outside?" The older man was dressed like a magister, standing firmly, his glare filled with power and self-assurance. "I don't think I want to know what means you used to get here."

"Lady Andralla's means", Verantia replied briefly. "Who are you? An image? A demon?", Verantia asked.

"Andralla? A name undeservingly unheard in the Imperium." The man sighed and squint his cat's eyes. "I feel that I should leave this place, but I have not found my way out. Instead, I heard my son calling", the man turned his head at the half-statue. "I did not manage to say goodbye on time. Now the Maker won't let me pass on until I make sure that my son is safe."

The younger one lifted his head slowly and uttered a faint response:

"Safe? You want to protect me by leaving me with your curse?"

"Dorian", the older man sighed impatiently. "It's about time that you have learned to treat your obligations like a chance, not like a burden. Don't you have plans to make a change? I have left you all the means to _act_. Why don't you take them on?"

"It's too heavy. I cannot move. If you have any mercy... Take it away...", the younger man faltered.

"I cannot do that. What is done is done, and now you must carry the responsibility as I did. It had been written in our blood long before either of us could decide", the father strolled around the statue, and turned his face to Verantia. "Please accept my apologies, young lady. I did not expect you would get involved, but I am glad that somebody from the outside appeared."

"I'd appreciate if you walked away in peace, spirit", Vera replied.

"See, Dorian? Your friends are after you. I shall not torment you with my presence anymore." Dorian's father cracked a weak smile and spoke to Vera again. "It has always been like this, you see. I try to indue him with all I can, and he just retreats and turns stone cold."

"It's too much for _just me_ , Father."

"Could I _alone_ have made you that weak?", the old man cried. "We all could do it, generation by generation, and only you -"

"If I may...", Verantia interrupted again. "I wouldn't like to spend too much time here..."

Frankly, she just wanted that bitter reproach to end.

"Certainly, it won't take long", the man nodded, and turned to his son once more. "I suppose I am not entitled to expect anything more from you, Dorian. If this is what you need to hear, then let it be: you owe me nothing. Do not run from the life you have brewed for youself. Seize your desires. You are now your own father."

A gap opened in the nearest rock, so bright that it almost blinded Vera. The older man gazed at it, genuinely surprised, then gave her a farewell nod. He approached the light and merged with it.

 

"That's it?", Dorian asked. "No trumpets and earthquake? I've always supposed my father would exit like a raging dragon."

"Come, we must get out", Vera approached Dorian. "We're in the Fade. I can't really do much, and I don't want to lure an army of demons out here."

A heavy sigh came out. "I have always wanted to be sculpted in marble... now I've got it", the man said with a rich velveteen voice. "I am well aware where we are. Are they really that impatient outside? Coming back will be... difficult. But I guess it can't be helped. I'm now a man with many responsibilities."

"If you're asking about magister Tilani, then yes, she has grown a bit impatient, mostly because she is keeping me here at the moment", Verantia said with a little frustration. "Whatever problems you have, you should solve them in the real world. Uh... You think you can break out of that stone?"

"I'd have already done it if I had the strength. What a sham." Vera wondered if his bitterness was something imposed by the Fade, or if he had been like that before.

"I can always try hurting you a little...", she suggested.

"Certainly, nothing freshens you up like a punch in the breastbone", he hissed. "But give it a try, a bit more pain won't make much difference. I do not have a better plan to be honest."

Vera conjured herself a gauntlet from raw Fade energy and punched man's marble chest with her wrist, hoping that it wouldn't be too strong. Tiny cracks appeared all over the stone cover. The man flinched but appeared rather unharmed. Vera carefully chipped a piece of stone away from his chest.

"Strange", she mentioned. "This is more convincing than a normal projection..."

A slim black shade materialised from beneath the bushes, changing the landscape into a miserable grey wilderness. It was an empty shroud, all torn up, revealing a pair of empty white eyeballs, large rodent teeth sticking out and crooked claws. It screeched with a voice pitched so high that Vera got goosebumps. She instinctively spread a protective barrier, and aimed at the demon with a missile from her conjured fist, running around her immobilized companion.

"I'd appreciate if you kept your distance, like a good despair demon", she said to herself. It was dancing around them, evading, hiding from behind the rocks, taking his time. Despair demons would never withdraw; the moment they were exposed, they preferred to fight even if they stood no chance. And if they felt confident, they would tease their victim, ambush them, exhaust them slowly until they'd surrender.

"Could you try to break free now?", she asked her patient. "I could use some help."

She could not see what Dorian was doing behind her. But she heard a silent hiss and felt the heat embrace her waist and arms. She looked back: her patient had released his arms from the stone grip and cast a couple of well-aimed flame blasts from behind her.

"Be careful with that!", she shouted.

"Oh, pardon me. I can't fight defensively", Dorian responded with a new lease of life. Vera backed away to avoid being burned and decided to focus on the protective barrier. Her companion looked as if he drew his strength from the fire. He was already free from the waist above, with the golden amulet contrasting with his skin. From the corner of her eye Vera saw the demon appear right behind Dorian, preparing an ice cold spike that could pierce a body through.

"I've got your back!", Vera shouted and rushed to aid Dorian. Her glyph diffused the spell, but she was pushed away so firmly that she accidentally crashed into her companion's shoulder blades.

"Have mercy, girl... I've just only caught my breath", Dorian squeezed out.

"Sorry about that... a miscalculation", Vera grinned. But since she had accidentally battered Dorian from behind, it was easier for him to whip the rest of his stone skin off. Vera heard a frightening giggle behind her back.

"Now we can play hide and seek!", he shouted at the demon with outright excitement. They stood side by side, showering the demon with magic missiles. It was over: The next combination of their spells tore their opponent apart. The shroud was lying numb on the ground, releasing greenish fume. Her patient stood in a triumphant pose, with an annoying complacent expression, blissfully ignorant of the fact that he hadn't conjured any clothing in all the commotion. Broad-shouldered and mildly athletic, with subtle symptoms of self-indulgence on his belly and thighs, now he'd make a great sculpture. But thinking of artistic quality at the time could only attract more demons, so Vera remained strong-minded.

The Fade blurred and changed the colours again – it was done, Dorian was waking up. Vera saw the chamber in Villa Pavonis once again, and it was dressed in waves of light and colourful auras, as her perception was still sharpened by lyrium. She saw a human figure moving towards the empty bed, and a couple of elven servants huddled in the corner. Then she felt the warmth of human body under her arms. Lyrium that would still flow in her veins made her hear the silent murmur of man's blood – hot-tempered, astir, impatient, insatiate. Only now did she notice that she was kneeling on the floor, with her head and arms lying on Dorian's shoulder. All the power disappeared from the glyph.

"Are both of you alright? Has it worked?", magister Tilani asked from the corner of Dorian's bed.

"I thought I got stuck forever", Dorian whispered.

"Trust me, staying in the Fade forever is not a good idea", Tilani responded with a faint grin. "We need you here. Alive and kicking. Someone should finally drag our dear Lucerni by their ears..." She lifted from the side of Dorian's bed and leant over to help Verantia, swinging with her square hips like a cat. "And you... you actually are priceless", she turned to the healer. "We owe Lady Ligannis a big one."

"Our young lady is quite alright in combat, for a healer. I must admit, I was thrilled." He lifted on the floor, loosening the shroud around him, and sat straight with a disturbing luster in his eyes. "I am still a bit thrilled. I feel so good it seems almost wrong."

"Let's see if this attitude stays with you for good. For now, get some rest and take care of yourself", Tilani smiled. But Vera could see suspicion in her sea blue eyes. Magister Tilani turned at frightened elven servants with a firm but playful tone. "Now, the break is over, please help the magister unwrap himself." Two elves trembled, picked Dorian up from the floor, and dressed him up behind a wooden screen. Verantia swayed and sat on the edge of magister Pavus's bed. Everybody turned their eyes at her.

"I'm alright... just a bit sensitive to lyrium...", she mumbled. The elves rushed to assist her but she could not stand up again. Her legs would not move, and the head felt dizzy. She fell on the bed like a ragdoll, mumbling under her breath. The colours were slowly blurring into ugly splats, and every movement before her eyes seemed to repeat twice at least. But the worse thing was that her limbs would not listen.

"Kaffas", Pavus cursed from a near distance, rubbing his neck. "I hope that Tevinter won't lose a good healer because of me." The elven servants stared at him in confusion. "Leave her for now. If she must be intoxicated, she deserved to be intoxicated in luxury. I'll... be fine."

Verantia heard hushed steps, the door clicking, and a heavy sigh. The canopy in front of her eyes danced in the shades of red. The man leant over her, a big dark spot with a ridiculous black something pretending a mustache. "You can still hear me, I hope?"

"Yyyeeeeaaaa", all she could utter. Her hearing was much sharper than it should. The moment Dorian appeared in the line of sight, she could hear his blood again, humming its restless march, now with an outstanding tune of sadness. Verantia had never tolerated lyrium very well, and she expected that she'd overdose from a portion legally used during the Harrowing, but it simply had to be done.

"I am...", he gathered his thoughts slowly. "I hate being indebted to people, and I hate touching speeches even more, but... Maker's sake, you have saved me. There are no words to express... Just rest. I'll stay and watch over you until you get sober... if you don't mind."

"Alright", Vera uttered. Nobleman's voice cheered up as he kept on talking:

"Good, because I'd like to compensate for the awful first impression I must have made. Let me introduce myself properly: I am Dorian Pavus, the new head of this house, though I cannot and don't want to get used to it any time soon. With some other pompous titles that would only stick in my throat. So, I'd rather just be called Dorian. Or magister Dorian. Now, speak to me if you can. It will help you."

Vera expected much more arrogance from an Altus. This one seemed rather fond of himself just as much as every Altus she had ever met, but otherwise he appeared rather unassuming. Even... normal, in as much as an Altus can be. Quite a rare specimen.

"Verantia Ligannis. A research assistant in healing and defensive thaumaturgy. Pleasure to meet you", Vera mumbled as articulately as she could. The man was right: any effort would help to digest lyrium quicker.

"Spirit healers are a remarkable kin", Dorian said. "So, you're that friend of magister Nigidio? You're Laetan, aren't you? I don't mean to rub it in, just asking out of courtesy."

"Yes, I am. _Laetan elevata_ , the first in six generations", Vera replied. "May I ask you a question, Magister?"

"Oh, I'm all ears. Not that I love talking about myself", the man forced a giggle.

"Have you been an enchanter in the Minrathous circle? I swear I could hear that name quite often a couple years ago."

"There are many reasons why you could have heard my name, and not all of them are pleasant", Dorian sighed heavily. "But yes, I used to be an enchanter here in Minrathous. Good old times."

"And why'd you leave?"

"A friend was in need. It's quite... personal."

The dizziness in Vera's head slowly disappeared, but she still felt hungover. She struggled to lift her hands and do a little workout, clenching her fists and opening them again. It gave her pins and needles, but she needed to do something to overcome the numbness. Pavus, Dorian Pavus... she struggled to recall where else she heard the name. Then it struck her like a lightning.

A couple years prior, before Vera's leave to Vyrantium, a raging scandal spread around the magical community. A lordling from a very prominent family, predicted to become the next Archon or something like that, exposed for what had been commonly called _man's disgrace_. Intimacy with other noble men, combined with alleged outrageous debauchery, orgies with blood magic rituals, heavy stimulant overuse, and heavy disregard for templars' authority. Vera's back shivered unwittingly, but she could not believe that the man she had just met could be involved in this kind of excess. Except for sleeping with other noblemen, maybe. The other accusations were a typical way to express that somebody was in other somebody's black books. The Altus hated everything that ruined their self-image based on the blood legacy, and slandered their "unproductive" kin heavily. The common people of Tevinter didn't share this view uncritically, but in like in many other matters the example came from the top. In Tevinter, it was generally good to have children and bad to be unable to produce them, and the common people treated the latter as an unfortunate affliction. Harmless, but still an affliction. Things became funny when somebody tried to live up to their desires, because this way they were thought to be developing bad habits, and making their illness worse. One could smell a gentle stench of contempt when it was mentioned, but nobody really rubbed their nose in it, unless you'd meet a _real_ asshole. Personally, Vera's eye twitched every time people tried to use her profession for superstitious explanations.

This time, she did not wish to dig deeper into it either. As a person living between two social classes, Vera always trusted her own conscience, and she seldom found a reason to despise anybody. That was the requirement of her spirit guardian: always discern, only use judgment as your last resort.

"So...", Dorian kept on asking, "You actually use Andralla's knowledge? This thing is heavily frowned upon... in the entire Imperium. How did you even manage to gather enough data to perform a complete ritual?"

"I've done many things. Some of them were against Circle policies. Technically, I'm a heretic", Vera grinned. After saving magister's life, she could reveal that much. "Just don't spread the rumour, please."

"Oh, yes. A heretic in the Imperium is a healthy person everywhere else...", Pavus smiled sadly. "You should go to Ferelden someday. They would dote on you."

"For now, I think have too much business here. Like saving the future reformers of Tevinter."

"Point taken", Pavus said and took a short pause. "So... you have seen pretty much in the Fade", he sighed heavily. Yes, many things she shouldn't have seen, indeed, like Altus family issues. "I apologise for the inconvenience. If only I knew that you'd get involved, I'd try... something..."

"Like, let things kill you in the Fade? Succumb to the demon? I don't think so", Vera replied firmly.

"Staying or coming back... Caught between the darkspawn and the Nocen Sea", Vera could hear his voice shake. But she didn't feel like pitying. It wasn't her fault after all, and she obviously didn't get the entire picture.

When her arms finally felt fine, she lifted up slowly and assumed a sitting position. Her vision was now normal, and she saw magister Pavus clearly, a man in his thirties or early forties, not half bad regarding the looks, smiling faintly. He had very sad, tired eyes and an extravagant haircut, flavoured with a mustache that screamed "I have just passed my Harrowing". To the Black City with all the slander! The guy had been very kind and concerned so far, though unable to hide grief, whatever caused it. Vera could not hate this magister, on the contrary – she was getting to like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Dorian struggles to handle some Magisterium business, he decides to look for his father's killers and starts from an uncomfortable conversation with his mother, and meets another OC - a Seheron veteran.


	6. VI: The plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much talking about politics, my personal depiction of Archon Radonis, the introduction of Cato Augur - an OC borrowed from a friend of mine; some uncomfortable headcanons about Alexius, and a bit of the worse part of Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one run at very slow pace, it might have been the holiday season or something else, I don't know. 
> 
> Augur is a bit of a creep, and he was intended to be like that.

Archon Radonis cleared his throat ostentaciously when the scribe was searching for the resolution to be announced right away. A magister died under unknown circumstances, followed by another magister a couple days after, which obviously suggested murder and vendetta. Mae had her suspicions. The first poor man was a pacifist, hesitating to join the Lucerni, the second one – a young brat whose family had been affiliated with Aurelius Titus in the past. The man from Seheron, Cato Augur, confessed that he avenged his close friends who happened to be a family of pacifists. He promised to meet with Mae and Dorian after the meeting of the Magisterium to introduce himself.

Tilani puffed under her breath, impatient before the next point on the agenda. The air was getting stifling, with over a hundred people in the hall. Seventy seven places taken by the acclaimed Altus houses, another thirty for the magisters appointed by the Circles and the Archon personally, and a dozen for the Black Divine with his council of grand clerics. The Archon was now supposed to confirm the appointment of the new replacement magisters. When the goofy assistant finally found the parchment, the honorable Magisterium heard the names, among them a fifteen-year-old boy, smitten with the honour of becoming the heir and head of the house. Probably appointed automatically by the right of his blood heritage. Such surprises in the Magisterium weren't rare, in the overall chaos of reckoning and unhappy accidents. Mae glanced at Dorian from the corner of her eye. He was hiding his face in his hand. Mae wasn't sure if he did it from shock, boredom, disappointment, or if he was having a moment of weakness. The poor sod strained himself too hard since that healer girl dragged him out of the Fade. He told himself that he must work harder to chase the gloom of, and to have a hold on every single affair of his house. It sounded dangerously similar with the late Halward, but Mae didn't intend to rub it in. Any mention that Dorian could act like his father, to a slightest extent, would definitely drive him mad, especially now that he was in such a delicate state of mind. Mae wrinkled her nose at the cloudy whiff of brandy, but at least Dorian had the strength and will to carry on.

"A perfect supply", the Archon said, "if we want to beat the record in assassinations per year. Doesn't anybody think this has gotten slightly out of hand?", Radonis sent a threatening glare somewhere in the crowd. He was the most cunning, the most dramatic, and the most frightening man in Tevinter. Or at least that's how he tried to pose, and it worked out well. "This should be investigated at once", he said with fake concern. Assassinations within the Magisterium were never officially investigated, unless somebody incautiously trod on Archon's own toes. The noble houses could reckon as much as they pleased unless somebody obviously fouled up the job. Radonis did not cast a drama because he cared to solve the case. He just needed to know. He was looking for a single pair of eyes that would act out of pattern. He was very careful in following disagreements between the houses. Mae noticed that he was investigating Dorian for some time, but lost his interest pretty quickly. Pavo wasn't one of the flawless liars who needed to be kept on a lead all the time, like the Divine, or anybody from House Ophiuchos, for instance. Or anybody accused of connections with the Venatori. Dorian could cause trouble in his own fickle manner. His Grace Blackie jiggled in his seat impatiently – he and his fat, precisely. What a bad boy he was. A restless hater of the "Orlesian lie" and executor of Tranquility rites. Radonis restrained him a little in his slander against the Anti-Divine Victoria and paranoid research for heresy, so he started questioning the faithfulness of revered fathers once again, confiscating goods and appointing his countless nephews.

"Let us proceed", Radonis said coldly.

"Next point of agenda: foreign affairs. A report on decisions made during the council held by the False Chantry will be presented by magister Dorian of House Pavus, Lord Ambassador to the Inquisition."

Dorian rose, wrapped in a long black chiton with loose folds that were imitating sleeves, with a long embroidered cloth collar stretching through his chest and magister's cloth belt wrapped through the shoulder and around the waist. He approached the empty space in the middle of the forum and addressed the assembly which now surrounded him: Archon's seat ahead, and the magisters on both sides.

"Your Magnificence", he turned to Radonis, "Most Holy, Your Graces, Honorable Assembly. It could not escape a notice that The Inquisition has become a thorn in the side of the entire South. Despite the irrevocable support from the Southern Divine Victoria..."

It was surprising how swiftly Dorian was able to switch between his casual tart attitude and a perfect concerned nobleman image. While he spoke to the Senate, he was unusually careful in his choice of words, flawless in his gestures, only shrewd when absolutely necessary, emanating with decorum. The Dorian Mae wished to see as often as possible. He could teach their dear Lucerni so many good things. Mae took a glimpse at Kallikrates Labrusci who was listening carefully and studying Dorian's behaviour. Yes, my dear, that's the man thought to be a man-child by half of Tevinter, and arbitrarily despised by the other half. True Lucerni's wild card who will surprise everybody, if he survives the inescapable persecution and slander.

"The Ferelden representative pressed forward to have the Inquisition disbanded completely, and its forces withdrawn from the Frostback Mountains. The Orlesian representative proposed Inquisition's power to be subordinated to the Anti-Divine Victoria herself. In as much as I spoke in the name of the Honorable Assembly, I advocated sustaining the Inquisition as a force controlled by the heretic Orlesian Chantry. The Inquisitor herself showed astonishing... bravery...", Dorian suspended his voice for a while, "... in admitting that she saw the danger of potential corruption, and expressed a wish to retire. Thus, the parties agreed that the Inquisition has overgrown any threat it could erase at this point. It has been decided: the Inquisition exists no more, its former members have dispersed, and possessions return to the Orlesian chantry. In the current situation, I humbly request the Honourable Assembly to relieve me from my function of the Ambassador."

Of course, Dorian could not reveal the spicy details he learned when he was venturing with the Inquisitor once again, much as he had always been far too zealous in rubbing it in about uncomfortable truths. Such a great revelation would cause a real _shitstorm_ , and Mae thought of that expression on purpose. An elven entity more powerful than the ancient magisters? Too many people in Tevinter looked up to the ancient magisters. It would be naive to suspect that Corypheus would be left to oblivion. Any humiliation to the legend of the ancient Imperium could only encourage the blood mages to dabble in hazardous research even deeper.

The Archon called Dorian for a private audience later that day, to hear more details in person. Dorian's involvement in that issue was pretty dangerous. He knew too much, and Radonis knew that he knew. Had the Archon grown too curious, Dorian would have to reveal the card. Eventually – maybe even to the entire Senate. He'd make a perfect bearer of bad news, with his name to be dragged through muck and mire. Not that his name had already been dragged through muck and mire because he defied his _manly duty_.

"Naturally. This function serves no purpose anymore, and we hereby ask you to return your ambassador insignia, magister Pavus", Radonis said in his privileged plural form. "At least they're not launching a march on anybody, though that would be quite interesting." The redundant ritual did not take long, one ring gone off Dorian's hands, and he returned to his place near Mae. After his report, there was only some time for "any other business", greetings and personal flattery between the magisters. Lucerni boys congratulated Dorian on his speech.

"Ah! We can almost call it a day", Mae sighed. "How was your first serious appearance?"

"Why my dear Maevaris, do you doubt in my natural rhetoric abilities?", Dorian responded in his usual sassy way. "Wait until I write a _real_ speech on any burning issue."

The rectangular senate meeting hall, made of yellow marble, was divided from Plaza Danarii only with a narrow portico. From the corner of her eye, Mae saw their fellow magister Heracles Nigidio smooching a woman – doubtlessly the Laetan girl they met the other day. So that was the nature of this friendship, almost compromised by the young Herathinos doe. Not having too much time to think about this little discovery, Mae took Dorian to the real marvel of the plaza: the covered market stalls which provided exotic goods brought through the Marble Route, stretching from the distant Donarks to Denerim and Dairsmuid, with an Orlesian-fashioned restaurant on the first floor. They were supposed to meet by the stall with decorative weapons from Ander alloys, much more expensive and more discreet than ones actually used for fighting.

"Are we supposed to see somebody right now, or can I just indulge myself with the goods of this place?", Pavo asked.

"Pleasure for later, sweetie. The Seheron veteran I mentioned the other day wanted to meet us in person. He appears to know some details about the House Zeno. A nasty business, really. Not a topic to be discussed it in public."

"Tell me, Mae", Dorian said, "This new magister appointed from House Zeno... is it their youngest boy? Still an underage?"

Mae nodded.

"What a savoury display of cynicism. They should have it written all over their faces", Dorian pouted.

"House Zeno has been practically erased, and its influence is a real tidbit. What a shame that they did not accept our offer right away", Mae responded. "Somebody cunning and ruthless used the boy as a puppet. Whoever hits the jackpot, _he_ will lose. We could try to snatch him before the polite folks finish their job. In the loving memory of house Zeno."

"Am I hearing correctly, Mae? This affair is obviously a cesspool. Once you get in, you're dead, covered in shit, or both combined. You wouldn't like to drown in there."

"Stay away if you wish. I won't leave it alone", Mae said firmly.

A group of slaves was led in chains from the Publicanium, not a rare sight even on the most beautiful plaza in Minrathous. Their owner must have obtained a free hand to punish them. Officially, a magister could not simply kill his slave unless the latter was proven guilty of a crime that also demanded capital punishment for a free citizen. The sad truth was that most blood mages didn't care about formalities. Those slightly more proper bought permissions and sentences with bribes. There were many ways to prove a slave guilty.

They have caught certain gentleman's attention: average height, yellowish olive complexion, bright cloudy eyes in an undying frown under greying black hair, nose broken so many times that it was hard to tell its original shape. The man had many burn marks and two long scars running diagonally through his face. Dressed humbly, in a long black robe with a wide cloth belt. This must have been the veteran. He bowed to Mae gently and approached them.

"There is no justice in this place, it seems. The poor sods have probably done something insignificant, or nothing at all, but will end up sacrificed in a ritual. Magisters, on the other hand, can commit all kind of atrocities and all they get is a slight spank on their arse", the man approached them. He was smoking a long, slender pipe.

"Magister Tilani, Magister Pavus, I presume? I am the Seheron contact, glory of governor's position long gone", he pointed at his scars. "I used to help Magister Zeno with several less subtle tasks. Now that he's gone, I feel a little lost", he said with a suave grin. "My name is Cato Augur. I've still got someone to meet this afternoon but... Should you find a moment, I'd like to invite you to Tamssran Head Inn this evening, in memory of late Varinius Zeno, in a little less toxic atmosphere." The grin turned into a relatively warm smile. By the all Blights, this man's attitude screamed that he was the worst, the most cheeky kind of Laetan. A really creepy one, in addition.

"Magister and I prefer more subtle places. I invite you to my estate, if you allow", Mae smiled back politely.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, but please excuse me. I have an important appointment", Dorian bowed with a rather stupid half-smile that told Mae that he was a bit put off.

"Take your time during the rendezvous with old Goatee, I will dine and chat with serah Augur. Join us at my place when you're finished", Mae waved Dorian goodbye as he marched to Archon's palace across the plaza. Her private carriage was waiting patiently. She invited Augur inside and took him to her villa. The main plaza in Minrathous was not that far from her home, but she had to make all these little redundant gestures to go through the motions. In that district of the imperial city, position obliged.

"Tell me, Augur", Maevaris asked, making a shrewd face, "how familiar with less subtle activities you are in general?"

"Depends on your threshold of sensitivity, Magister."

"My friend whom you have just met has particular interest in tracing the group known as the Venatori. I'm sure it rings a bell. Some of them still walk this soil, and something tells me they will try to return with a crash. The legal attempts to pacify them have failed. The conservatives in the Magisterium still support this supremacist hydra", Mae sighed lightly. "Secretly, of course. The Archon put up a show and condemned them, but that's just another vague declaration. He has his hands tied, and many blades pointed at his throat if he showed disapproval. I slowly start believing that there is no other way than Dorian's way to wipe that stain out. Even though he takes a bit too much pleasure in all the killing he's done. So, my question is: how much pleasure will you take in finding and disarming some Venatori, serah Augur? Not all of them need to die by principle, though Dorian might disagree."

He responded with a wide grin. Maevaris herself learned to kill after they executed her papa, became colder and more calculated as the years passed. She felt justified, but never really enjoyed it. She half-hoped that if Tevinter were a normal place, none of her friends would have to cross that line. Sometimes Mae wished she did not know.

Too bad, too bad. She was about to dine with a guest, and the sudden uncomfortable realisation only made it a little harder to keep up appearances. As they reached the estate, she felt pressed to address the House Zeno affair at once. She ordered the servants to prepare a meal for three and invited Augur to the couches by the window.

"I won't lie to you, serah Augur, I need to know what happened to the Zenos. Also, to consider if I want to take any action to prevent further bloodshed."

"The latter could be a little hard, because it is me who avenged House Zeno. Which included taking care of the young Georgius Dimembris. And House Dimembris doesn't find any amount of blood repugnant, if you know what I mean." Mae frowned.

"And you want us to protect you from their wrath?"

This was pure madness. A family long known to take part in slave trade, ambiguously silent about forswearing the Old Gods, suspected of experiments with blood magic to the point they got into Radonis's black books. They used to support late Aurelius Titus with fanatic enthusiasm, and this was enough to draw a picture. All the blighted blood mages in Tevinter, Titus, the Venatori, Halward Pavus's murderers, Dumat worshippers popping out from time to time – it must have all been interconnected, a knot not to be untangled by any civilised means. The mere thought gave Mae a headache.

"Not at all. From you I just want some attention. Maybe recognition of my skill, too."

"You volunteer for the dirty job? That's quite unbelievable", Mae said, making sure that her suspicion would be heard. "And the skill you are providing – what is it, precisely? You're a strategist? An agent? A more sophisticated sellsword?" Augur made this frightening grin of his again.

"For the just cause, it can be all of them."

"Oh", Mae responded, still somewhat baffled. Talk about justice in this wretched place. "Well... I'd like to hear what Dorian has to say on the matter."

When appetizers and wine were served, the atmosphere loosened up a bit. As they proceeded with the meal, Augur was more willing to tell about his great passion other than combat. He was from an impoverished Laetan family whose magical blood had been quite volatile. They moved to the farmland and tried to make the ends meet by cultivating an orchard. He even expressed a wish to retire to the land again someday, when he'd be satisfied with his contribution to the fate of Tevinter. Even complimented on Mae's choice of ingredients.

After about an hour, Dorian finally made it there, worryingly agitated. He collapsed on the chair and asked for wine.

"Something particularly unsweet from our Archon?", Mae asked.

"Oh, no, absolutely not. He practically squeezed the Qunari part of the story out of me", Dorian hissed, exchanging a knowing glance with Mae. "Gave me this penetrating stare which said: I will drown you in your own blood if you refuse to speak. _Do_ enjoy yourself."

"Something about Qunari?", Augur asked. "Every piece of news on Qunari warms me up. You can trust me, Seheron people don't let the cat out of the bag."

"Just a minor attempt at invasion during the Exalted Council, since you're concerned. Including lyrium and working ancient elvhen devices. Because now Qunari use _gaatlok_ to mine lyrium, and try give it to their mages even though these are said to be taught to be terrified of lyrium. The Inquisitor managed to resolve it silently, but she was severely injured", Dorian's voice cracked almost unnoticeably. "A polite reminder that the new Arishook is a bit less predictable than the last one. If the Senate found out right away, we'd have a total mobilization by now and half of the Soporati population sent away in the annual assault", he sighed. "The Archon also asked me what he should do with Alexius. Because he won't touch Alexius with a ten foot pole after all the Venatori affair. He must think we're still such good friends."

"And, what will he do with Alexius?", Maevaris asked.

"Most likely, confiscate all his possessions. They have already stripped him of the titles, what could hold them back? They'll stop pretending that he still has any civil rights, that's it. The old man hasn't decided yet, but he will push it through the Magisterium. Even if the Lucerni abstain from voting, we won't make a difference. Needless to say, the fate of House Alexius hangs by a thread. Felix would never be master Gereon's heir, all his apprentices scattered around Tevinter. There's still me, of course, but I've already received my piece of the pie... Unless merging the houses until they become one large collective becomes a new trend", Dorian raised his voice in anger. "So, guess who's expected to take Alexius under his wing as soon as he is officially deprived of his wealth. Enslave him, in practice, though not by law, because what will he be afterwards? Even less than a Soporatus, I'm afraid. Like a marked criminal", Dorian rubbed his temple. "This isn't how I imagined repaying the debt to my mentor."

"Another decent house being destroyed?", Augur asked.

"This house has been nothing close to decent since Alexius vanished with his subordinates and joined the Venatori a couple years ago. One of the best places I've known... totally ruined", Pavo explained with a bitter smile. Looking at this mess must have cost him too much. It was his home for many years. Alexius used to be his greatest inspiration, and it all crumbled before Dorian's eyes. The poor sod saw too much while being too young, but that's what one usually got from being born an Altus.

"Since we've mentioned the Venatori", Mae said swiftly, "both you gentlemen might be interested in their whereabouts. That's actually why I wanted the two of you to know each other."

"Oooh, certainly", Augur sang and raised his cup. "Anything to clean up the Imperium."

Dorian uttered a frustrated grunt and shook his head, scowling at Mae in disbelief.

"Since we're already laying it on the line without any caution or discretion whatsoever...", he suspended his voice dramatically and turned to their new acquaintance, "this is more than just the Venatori. As you might know, I'm right here, taking part in this absurd instead of chasing rams around Ferelden because my father died in rather shady circumstances. I want to know these circumstances. It is not entirely impossible that the Venatori have something to do with it. Even if they don't, I must admit I dislike the kind pretty much. Actually, I will kill any of them at sight, as they remind me of some old acquaintances whom I didn't suspect of this extent of stupidity", Dorian's eyes went dangerously cold and eager as he tapped the table with his fingers.

"I can see some good old resentment on your part, Magister. Eating your heart out until you're itching to hurt them, to let them feel your disappointment", Augur spoke with a frightening grin. Mae was slowly losing patience from the bad fluids in the air.

"Perhaps we shouldn't play a guessing game about each other's feelings, my Lord. Let's not get crazy with familiarity", Dorian ground out.

"Are you having fun there, cockerels? I'd hate to see two refined gentlemen brawl like some brutes", Mae interrupted with an innocent smile.

"I'm sorry, Maevaris. I've got a bit upset", Dorian said, abusing salad with his fork. Augur focused on his own plate, but a sneer interrupted his consumption from time to time.

What a stew Mae got herself into... She sighed heavily and finished her wine. Friendship with that Cato Augur would not be an easy one.


	7. VII - Recognition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angsty chapter in which Dorian meets his mother and hears quite bad revelations which make him temporarily indisposed. Includes my headcanon about Tevinter funerary traditions and the relationship between Dorian and Aquinea.
> 
> The plot seems to unveil, still very slowly, but it's something. And Dorian's getting bloodthirsty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional TW just in case: **slight gore (mildly graphic description of violence)**
> 
> In contrast with Halward, whom Dorian truly admired despite the pain and humiliation he received, I'd like to portray Aquinea as a rather dark person with obscure motives who's confusing even (or maybe _especially_ ) for her son.
> 
> A little edit 30.01.: I have noticed that I committed a little heresy and overestimated the extent of reverence for Andraste in the Imperial Chantry lore. From now on, it's Archon Hessarian only.

As Martinalis unwound and All Soul's day was approaching, Dorian's mother wished to come to Minrathous to pay respects at Father's grave. He cringed at the thought of seeing her, as always; his mother was still a haunting incomprehensible presence, straddling between Dorian's scarce childhood memories and widespread rumours of Aquinea's decadence. She was one of the Altus housewives who got completely disappointed by their marriage, and wandered off into liberties they often could not carry on their shoulders. Mother always wanted to nurture her beauty and independence, above all else... or at least that's how it seemed. Dorian refused to ask himself how much having a child must have damaged her; it certainly did not help her flourish. In House Pavus, it was certain that this phenomenon would not occur more than once, thanks to Dorian's parents' mutual efforts. Aquinea gave Halward the heir, and he had nothing more to do with her. Neither did the heir. Dorian read it between the lines, even though Mother always tried to save face in front of him and – oh, the irony! – act as an example, even from a distance.

Dorian always had the servants to take care of him. Whether there was a period when mother tended him on her own, he could not remember. Maybe she stayed out of the way because Father and Dorian were in good terms for so long. It was hard to say. As far as he did remember, Mother would spend most of her day outside, coming back covered in whiskey scent and with fraudulent happiness written all over her face. Little Dorian did not understand the smug smirk she gave Halward many times. Neither did he understand why Father would dismiss young, good-looking servants and workers on regular basis. Father seemed to put up with his disgrace patiently, patronizing his wife and trying to put her in her place. Father preferred the suffering of his family to a scandal and a risk to his wealth, as it later turned out an unwritten Pavus law.

Dorian did not grasp very much of the strife in their family, as he was often sent away from Circle to Circle, from tutor to tutor. During the short breaks he spent in their home in Quarinus he was usually kicked about for getting everything the wrong way. Mother sometimes advocated in his favour, but he was not sure whether she did it from love or she just wanted to offend his Father. Then, one day a senior enchanter from Vyrantium kindly informed Lady and Messer Pavus that their teenage son was caught in a univocal situation that revealed something funny about his predilections. Father withdrew Dorian from Vyrantium discreetly, mother would not stand for him anymore. For the next few years, she hardly looked him in the face without a frown that told Dorian of shame and well-concealed aversion. This time, Dorian did not feel like chatting about family issues more then it was absolutely necessary. He decided to take specific steps. He wanted to find out how Father died and avenge him. Mother would be the first person to keep some revelations on that matter mostly to herself.

The sacred burial area was placed in the mainland, by the Imperial Highway right outside the walls of Minrathous. It was a peaceful patch of relatively flat terrain, loosely isolated with a low stone wall that could be extended with relative ease without destroying the view. The loudest accent of the necropolis was the stone gate with Archon Hessarian sculpted on the pillars. The gate led to a Chantry chapel – a building converted from an old Dumat temple, whited out and enlivened with stained glass windows, with its old symbols hidden under the frescos depicting verses from the Chant of Light. The place also bore traces of white debris from ancient elven ruins, as practically every location in the Imperium, especially in the East.

The necropolis silently connected all the generations of Tevinter citizens: a mild chaos of vast Altus family tomb houses, open-air stone sarcophagi and monuments of the Laetantes and rich laics, humble headstones of Soporati and freed slaves, everyone gathered together. Most likely including countless elves. Dorian shrugged at the memory of the vicious silence of the Exalted Plains in the Dales. His entire homeland could be a grave like these plains. Everybody together, in their common fate, as one could say pompuously.

Naturally, the resting place of House Pavus had to be grandiose. One more thing planned and sustained for generations: a rectangular building with enough room to stack coffins and urns among at least two degrees of kinship among the Pavus, over the span of about three hundred years. It rose above the graves no more than fifty feet to the South from the Chantry. Dorian and Mother strolled without hurry. Young Pavus always found the company of the dead strangely soothing and familiar – one of the reasons he pursued necromancy as his field of specialization. He carried a basket with food offering and ritual wine on his shoulder. He did not want any servants or other assistance by the ritual. In public, Dorian wanted to pose as a lapsed Chantry believer, someone who did not cling to the idea of the Maker too strong, and was free to criticise. But whenever he decided to perform any rituals, they were meaningful, even intimate.

Even though silence seemed natural in a place like this, Mother could not stand it.

"I assume you'd like to know. You deserve to know."

"Yes. But I'd like to make an offering first." Dorian did not want distraction from his reverential frame of mind, as it had never come to him easily.

"The voice of duty?", Aquinea asked. "Or a voice of belief?"

"I'm not as indifferent to some beliefs as you are, Mother", Dorian replied harshly. Mother mostly believed in who she used to be as a young and free girl.

They entered the main hall of their family tomb with a little altar standing in the middle, covered in fresh bloodless offerings, emanating with a slight stench of fermentation. The tomb was lightsome, dignified, lukewarm. Other relatives had already come to pay their respects. The goods offered were a token of the old Tevinter and Nevarran traditions absorbed by the Chantry therein, a sacred gift to human souls that could not be touched by the laymen after it had been offered. The altars were cleaned up by Chantry brothers and sisters by the end of All Soul's Day and destroyed in the sacred fire which symbolised the flame of human soul, as it was written in the Chant. Dorian took a little flask of tart ritual wine out and placed the basket full of bread, fruits and cheese on the altar. Then, he filled two small goblets with wine and poured a small part off onto the ground. Before he shared the drink with his mother, he had recited several lines from the Canticle of Trials. The head of the house spoke in dead ancestors' stead, as the meaning of the ritual suggested. Despite the effort to appear unmoved, Dorian spoke with his voice slightly shaking:

> You have grieved as I have.  
>  You, who made worlds out of nothing.  
>  We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay,  
>  Comforting each other in our art.  
>  Do not grieve for me, Maker of All.  
>  Though all others may forget You,  
>  Your name is etched into my every step.  
>  I will not forsake You, even if I forget myself.

It was as much as that, simple but still powerful. Dorian and Mother walked out to see the greatest art commission of House Pavus: the outer walls of the tomb were intended to be covered with bas-reliefs commemorating each head of the house. They were all kept in the same convention: a life-sized torso portrait embedded in decorations, with the epitaph carved underneath. Faces of the ancestors were staring: some of them looked at the mortals gently, some of them seemed in denial, some had a patronizing look in their eyes... including Father. He was shown as he died: in the prime of life, his face proud and filled with incisive thought. Dorian did not bother to read the conventional epitaph that would praise Father among all the "very best of the good" men and enumerated his accomplishments. They were all the same.

Next to Father's bust a blank place was lined out, doubtlessly dedicated to Dorian. He tried to imagine what his own epitaph would look like. Would they portray him with the defiant shrewdness of his early years? Or would they place a purposeful caricature? "Here lies Dorian of House Pavus, a sterile scion, a body of scandal and constant disappointment to all the good men. Regardless of any actual accomplishments, will be remembered as a perverted abomination, a drunk, and a woe to the Magisterium. Gone much too late, as only the good are said to die young. May the ancient darkspawn dance on his ashes", or something just as blasphemous. Frankly, he'd rather see that than one of these sugar-coated eulogies written by third-rate poets. And they'd better not forget about the mustache.

"Nothing unexpected", he reviewed the monument. "Would you mind if I checked out on Felix?", he turned to his mother.

"Of course. He was your friend, wasn't he?"

Alexius family also had a covered tomb, much more modest but still charming in its own way. The memorial monument to Felix and his mother was installed in the portico, between two portals, decorated with flowers. Dorian was supposed to commission a monument the first time he was back to Tevinter – the only thing master Alexius wanted from him after all the time they were in the Inquisition. Alexius put a sick amount of money into the sculpture depicting Livia of House Arida and Felix Alexius in a warm, loving embrace. They were sleeping calmly, as if the Blight had not affected their happiness at all. The sculpture was decent, it served its purpose. Every time Dorian visited the place, he could stare at his friend's portrait endlessly, try to feed his terrible longing. To touch sculpture's stone cold forehead with his own and say: there are things worse than dying, but some deaths leave entire worlds empty. How can one find out what's good in a world which bears no meaning? The formula of the epitaph said that Felix "would prove his greatness, were he allowed a long life", but that was a robust understatement. Felix was the best man Dorian had ever known.

"Did you supervise this? I'm impressed", Mother said. "Made by a skilled hand. Perfect taste and brevity in expression."

"Of course, Mother. I learned aesthetic taste from you", Dorian took the last glimpse at the monument and they walked away.

"Do not try to flatter me, boy. Looking at each other, we look at years of negligence", Mother said bitterly.

"Perhaps negligence isn't the first thing to which I'd like to pay attention", Dorian replied, slightly irritated. Conversations with Mother were usually just that exhausting: filled with cynicism, stabbing with unexpected reproach, subtly questioning Dorian's value. Aware of her negligence but never willing to make up for it. She never admitted to remorse for the wrong she did to her family, though she was just as guilty as Father. Dorian wasn't sure whether his mother was too proud or just cruel.

They walked to the necropolis gate in silence, and Mother only spoke as soon as they sat down in the carriage.

"Would you now like to hear about your father?", she asked.

"Yes, please", he replied harshly. Dorian felt that she could toy with him if he hesitated too much. Of all the things wrong between them, the lack of trust was the worst. Mother treated Dorian like a manchild, and he treated Mother like a fraud. The latter was probably not far from the truth. "He was going on a casual trip to Asariel. His agents warned him about the ambush. He prepared. But they outran him, or gave him a false lead. He was gone without a trace... until I received a note. ' _The_ _ancient blood usurper paid for his vanity_.' They sent his family signet back", Mother untied a tiny pouch from her belt and passed it on to Dorian. "It is now yours, as almost everything we've had. Your father would surely give it to you, and I don't want any memorial trinkets."

The pouch felt awkward in his hands, as if it carried remnants of somebody else's life essence, fading away as Dorian filled the item with the warmth of his own body. He hid the pouch in one of the numerous pockets in his vest and listened on.

"Then there was another note: they revealed where they would return the body. Surprisingly, they returned it in one piece", Aquinea said coldly. Dorian felt the blood run off his face and hands. "It was a good, clean job. No traces of their identity, no point in pursuit. Are you alright?", she turned at Dorian. He nodded. "What I say next might overtax your strength. Do you really want to keep on listening?", Mother asked.

"I must know, Mother. I want to get this over with", he lifted his chin to show that he was fine. Of course he wasn't. Listening made him dizzy and Mother must have noticed. But he knew several breathing techniques to prevent fainting. Useful in combat as well as in other circumstances. Mother gave him a penetrating glance and carried on:

"They tortured him. Wanted to break him down for some reason. I could barely recognise the face. It was a matter of honour and morale. Revenge, maybe. I'm not sure how to read that rubbish about blood. He must have resisted long enough to be proven unbreakable. They ended it with a single stab in the nape", Mother's eyes glistened a little bit. "He was a brave, unshakable man after all."

Dorian placed all his inner tension into a heavy, breathy sigh. Good thing that he was already sitting. He needed to stick his head between the knees, wait for the blood return to his brain, an digest the information. The head was spinning for some time, and Dorian felt nothing but nauseating confusion. Much as he could kill people without a blink of an eye from a spell's distance, Mother's description implanted unexpected fear and disgust deep down in his insides. He was genuinely poisoned by the revelation.

"You are stronger than we thought", Mother said. "Unafraid of your limits. Yes, this must be it. You'd make a fine leader after all."

Why was Mother saying this in that moment? What must they have been thinking of him _in general_ if he appeared particularly strong when he could barely get off the carriage? When he reached the household on his last legs to finally throw up in peace? Collapsed on his bed and woke up with worried Lucius above him? Where was that perceived strength of his? There was nothing but dizziness.

"Do you feel ill, master? I could call the medic recommended by magister Tilani."

"Just some disturbing news, no need to bother anybody", Dorian said, rubbing his temples. But the next thing he heard consciously was the familiar abrasive female voice:

"Reaction to bad news? More like being trodden by a herd of druffalos. Good that you've called me after all. You're a great steward, really", the voice paused for a while and Dorian heard glass flasks click and jingle. "I can almost hear your palpitation from here, and I haven't taken any lyrium. You're a bit too young for a chronic heart disease, or anything like that."

The voice approached and Dorian discovered that the world was still a bit more blurry than it should. But girl's sole presence managed to calm him down. Was that a universal effect spirit healers had on people?

"I didn't suspect that being a magister is such a high-risk occupation... Oh, stupid me. Speaking before I think again. My apologies, and please try to inhale", Dorian sensed a sweet scent, soothing yet energizing, coming from a near distance. Then he felt pleasant warmth approach his belly. The nausea was slowly going away.

"That is a mess. All I sense is mess", Ligannis said harshly. "How strong are your nerves? I won't judge, I need to know if I should give you a supportive treatment, or try something tougher..."

"This really was just some terrible news", Dorian muttered.

"Well, my medical nose bets on the herd of druffalos."

"If the herd of druffalos can represent graphic knowledge of the circumstances of close relative's death, then enjoy your prize, serah", Dorian hissed angrily.

"Oh", the girl uttered. Something told Dorian that he did not have to go that far. "My apologies. But you probably weren't aware how long you were unconscious. It's almost evening. So... I'm not surprised that your servants were worried."

"What... this is ridiculous..."

"Chin up! I was having panic attacks the first time they tried to track me down for my research. Then I learned some self-defense in the slums. Rogues are good at their word. Ungh, I'm sorry. Stuck foot in my mouth again."

"No, that makes perfect sense. I think I need to kill some people to fill myself with proper rage", Dorian said with a smirk.

"Call that an honest declaration", Ligannis sighed. "At least you know what you stand for."

"I should be fine now. You should be tending someone who's _really_ in need, but thank you for coming anyway", Dorian muttered.

"Just don't stand up too quick or you won't be able to eat for two days. I'll leave some medicine and a note for your servants, in case you had another fit any time soon. Cruel as it may seem, your nerves also give me a job, Magister."

Only now did Dorian feel articulate enough to digest the information received from his mother. The attack was well-thought, purposeful. Something about ancient blood within House Pavus. Something about usurpation. Possible infiltration and deception. Somebody did not like the way Halward Pavus wanted to breed his descendants. But why would it still matter after all the Imperium found out that Dorian Pavus would never breed anything enviable?

Dorian heard a silent knock on the door and Lucius announcing:

"Master, Lady Aquinea would like to see you."

Simply great. Did Dorian's social life have to thrive when he was indisposed? What next, _bees_ and an impish elf swinging on the canopy? The smell of Qunari sweat and a rib-crushing hug? " _Kadaaaaan_ ", called out with tenderness that did not fit a former Ben-Hassrath spy. Actually, Dorian would fancy the last part. To make himself feel better, he imagined Bull's large arms, a bit fatty apart from their musculature, simply holding him and keeping him warm. But it was his Mother in the room, and she came in without permission, still making herself at home.

"You fainted so quick that you didn't let us finish the conversation", she said, more relaxed than she should have been.

"Did you have fun watching me collapse?", Dorian hissed.

"I can estimate danger", she replied. "This one wasn't too great."

"Maker...", Dorian muttered. Mother chuckled and lounged on one of the decorative chairs that were standing by the balcony.

"I'm still tormenting you because I came to offer my help in finding the bastards and honoring your father's name. I haven't had real fun for quite long. I could arrange a party and make sure to lure our enemy. Kill two or three insignificant people who annoyed me, just to keep it proper. Learn something about our opponent's mode of action. And tell the Eastern part of the Imperium that you're back in the family. Autumn in Quarinus will be delicious this year", she said with delight in her voice.

"And why have you become so helpful all of sudden?"

"I might not give it away easily, but I want my son to succeed. And I will aid him, openly or from the shadows, as long as I can", she said firmly. For the first time in many years, Dorian heard something close to affection in her hoarse voice heavily damaged by liquor. "Also... they could now threaten us both. The entire house needs to take precautions. If I were you, I'd be organising a proper spy ring from _fresh blood_ by now."

"I suppose I don't have a better plan", Dorian sighed. "I'm in touch with a man who calls himself a strategist. I will let you know what he thinks."

"Good", Mother said with genuine passion blazing in her eyes. She loved these mind games in the courts and watching as Tevinter nobles slaughter each other. "Give my regards to Tilani. Also, I found this at the entrance", she gave Dorian a little brochure before she walked away. The slightly twisted paper sheet read:

> A caring WARNING against false "reformers" of our dearest Imperium:  
>  the vile abomination Tilani and her perverted slave dog, the corruption of House Pavus,  
>  whose bodily impairments have twisted their minds with envy,  
>  introduce their demonic breed of greed and resentment under the banner of future reforms!
> 
> Debauchery of the body can only bear subversive thoughts.  
>  Do not let your guard down, brothers and sisters in magic!  
>  Beware of the creeps and their deranged whisperings!
> 
> _True guardians of the Imperium_

Bodily impairment? Was that their new catchphrase? Ligannis should write an educational counter-pamphlet against that, including Dorian's hand-drawn diagrams. The note could be distributed among all the Circle magi, and it surely reached Maevaris and the others. For his entire life "the corruption of House Pavus" had been convinced that poison and dagger would unchangeably remain more fashionable than vague calumny. Apparently their political opponents decided to take a different path. They unblushingly let the Lucerni members know - for what? To provoke them? To break their morale? Things were getting funnier every new day.

Actually, the more Dorian thought about it, the more the awareness stung in his heart. Things had only been set in motion and he was already losing his breath. He could not afford weakness in that very moment. He needed to take action instead of pitying himself from every possible angle. For now, he had his investigation and his revenge to be made real. Yet, he was not sure what kind of person would emerge when he would finally indulge himself. The Inquisitor would not be proud of that Dorian. She was somewhat frightened when he gave her a detailed list of the Venatori members he knew in person, brutally sincere in his malevolence, his eyes glimmering with hatred. He told himself that he would only cross that line for a greater good. And now he had to, he needed to cross that line.

Dorian took the little pouch out of his pocket and slowly retrieved the golden signet with two serpents intertwined. It still left the awkward feeling of an unbearable living presence. But there was also something tempting about it, and Dorian wasn't nauseated anymore. It was now his, like everything, as Mother said. Why should he be repelled if it was his? If there was a grain of truth in Dorian's vision in the Fade that unfortunate day, Father could finally leave him be. _He was now his own father_. Dorian took a few slow breaths to overcome the aversion and put the signet on his ring finger. It didn't change much. It wasn't supposed to change much, but head of House Pavus felt somewhat self-assured.


	8. VIII - The supply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian catches some breath, calls his friend, meets other friends, indulges himself in some petty musings. A slice of magister's everyday life before he gets ready for action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy, I forced myself to finish that one.

Despite the recent disturbing news, it seemed that Dorian could finally catch his breath. Neither of his collaborators got assassinated or injured. Neither Mother nor Herathinos tried to assassinate him. The correspondence did not reveal anything that should trouble the head of House Pavus too much. Lucius wanted new attire for the servants, and he had his master's unflinching trust in any financial matters. Maevaris wrote a short cryptic note that she would try to persuade the young Zeno to leave all the mess behind and flee to Antiva. Or at least that's what she wanted to announce to any unauthorised readers of her correspondence. It wouldn't be a bad choice though, especially if the boy would be smart enough to make friends with some Crow talons. It should have been under no illusions that the officials from the Publicanium would _somehow_ manage to disassemble all the wealth and influence of House Zeno.

Serah Augur informed that his contacts discovered Venatori settlements by the Nevarran border. But to go there prepared for a possible skirmish, they would need men and supplies. Augur emphasised too much that they were not ready yet, which could be another way to mislead their enemies if it weren't true. Dorian would have to build himself a little private army to do anything like a decent reconaissance. It was highly unlikely that he would roam about in a small squad of battlemages. He didn't have people even to form such a team, and putting his old and new associates to risk was out of question. It was a shame, indeed, as Augur's hand itched to draw the blade as well. At least this way the strategist could win Dorian's trust. Very limited trust.

A trip to Asariel was in prospect, as the administrator was getting greedy, and threatened to leave by the end of the year. If he was supposed to keep this attitude, he'd better be kicked to the curb at once. Nobody would threaten Dorian's nourishment and the personal brand of wine. Especially the latter. The potential replacement would pose a difficulty, though. Dorian had no foggiest idea where to find a good administrator.

Since the neighbourhood of Nevarra was in consideration, perhaps he could get in touch with Iron Bull? He hated to admit that he missed the grey beefy uphill. Yet, the arrangement was highly problematic. Without another communication crystal, he had very little means to get in touch with the Chargers, especially considering their constant motion. Dorian slowly learned to understand how his love choices would rebound on him as soon as he had made a clear statement. But he did not have to worry about that yet, did he? Dorian snapped at himself. Of course he did not. He had only just started feeling more like his old self, the Dorian who seized the day. He did not want to ruin that moment.

Perhaps he should ask Lavellan? After the first tough month in Tevinter, he was at last ready to talk to her without acting like a bundle of nerves, against his self image and all common sense. At least his longing for the dearest friend could be soothed. Dorian pulled the sending crystal out, a milky quartz polished into oval shape, with a golden binding which tingled from the magical charge. Dorian ran his finger around the crystal, making a silent vibrating sound, as if somebody played on the edge of a half-filled glass. The sound amplified and was gradually becoming richer, until clear female voice with a distinctive accent, one of these from the Marches, emerged from deep within:

"Oh, that's how this thing calls out. I hope it works... Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, my friend", Dorian smiled under his breath. Hearing friend's voice brought him joy and relief. "I hope I don't interrupt with any pressing issues?"

"No, of course not! I was dying to hear you at last. _Aneth ara_ Dorian, how are you doing?", Lavellan asked cheerfully.

"Life in Minrathous without you could bore me to tears, obviously. Not that I have nothing to do, no. I cannot complain on idleness. It's just that magister's life familiarizes with less adventurous activities. The Lucerni need some good manners and cold water to be poured on them, but they're good after all. As long as Maevaris is our leader, nothing scandalous should slip out. Unless our meetings involve more samples of exotic beverages...", Dorian cleared his throat.

"That sounds great. You sound satisfied, at least. What about your personal affairs, Dorian?"

"I think I'm slowly getting used to having all these... Oh, pardon me, I haven't told you yet, have I? How was I supposed to, anyway... I'm getting carried away as always... Well, Father signed almost everything over to me", Dorian kept his voice as indifferent as possible. "I'm a bloody important man now. A head of the house. Let's hope I won't get too used to the idea", Dorian chuckled bitterly.

"You're the last person I know who would get misguided by power, Dorian", Lavellan replied.

"I hope you're right", he said, rather unconvinced. Were it ever to happen, it would happen discreetly. It would be unseen by his friends until it would be too late, rationally justified, dressed in noble causes. One day he simply would not recognise himself anymore, at least not as the man who promised to be humble and just. The toxic Tevinter air poisoned everybody in the end. It had better be left to those who were born into it... On the other hand, those born into it were often clueless of any need for improvement, unless their lives tried to drag them through the mud like Maevaris or Dorian himself.

"Have you learned something about your father? Taken any load off your mind? If you want to talk about it, of course", Lavellan asked.

"I have. I'm... gathering clues. Forgive me, my friend, but I don't really wish to discuss it. It's still fresh, you see", he paused for a while, and his friend fell silent either, apparently unable to find an answer. "Ah, now I only sadden you unnecessarily", Dorian made his voice more confident again, "By the way, do you happen to know something about Bull's whereabouts? Did he say where he was heading?"

"Nothing more than the general direction of northern Orlais", the elf replied. "You two must miss each other", Dorian heard teasing in her voice.

"Oh, you know how it is. Bull's become such a wimp these days..."

"Come on. We both know you aren't made of stone either."

"Alright, you've got me", Dorian sighed. "I do miss him. Not as much as you but I'd fancy spending a few days away from Minrathous."

"I don't want to poke my nose in, but you could show your fondness for Bull in more direct ways", Lavellan scolded him gently.

"Like I've had too many occasions lately", he sassed. "Regardless, Bull seems to like it the way it is. He wouldn't like anybody to find out how much he loves all that sugar-coated patter. I'm not saying that _I_ like it either. He has never complained, and frankly, I feel obliged to pay him back for all these obscenities he's been telling about me. We're not the most tender kind, I know, but there's nothing to worry about, really", he spoke somewhat nervously.

"Sure, whatever suits you. It's just you're both my friends, and I wouldn't like to see you distance from each other as soon as you've got separated."

"Yes, yes, naturally, I truly appreciate your concern. It cannot be overestimated, my dear, but I can cope with my own affairs", Dorian said earnestly. "I'm not only looking for Bull for personal reasons. Somebody in my surroundings is pulling the rug out from underneath. I might have a leak in my agent ring, and I wouldn't like any unauthorised individuals to find out about Bull and me. So, if you get in touch with him any time soon, tell him to be careful, and to hunt some moles for our both sakes if his Ben-Hassrath nose detects any."

"I don't know if I get the opportunity any time soon, but I'll stay alert."

Dorian pondered for a while: what was wrong with this overgrown lummox? Did he have the slightest idea how hard it woul be to track him down while he was constantly in motion? He would probably drop a line when it was convenient for him.

"Not that Bull makes it easier", Dorian sighed.

"Don't blame it on Bull. You both agreed to keep it that way."

"True enough. I apologise for my whining", Dorian sighed. Lavellan must have thought that they'd be better off apart. There was nothing wrong about it, nothing at all. Even Dorian sometimes wondered if he didn't shoot himself an arrow in the foot by chance. He bit his tongue before he would confess too much.

"Oh, I don't mind that. Stay strong and you'll figure things out with Bull as well", Lavellan cheered him up. But it felt like another filthy lie. The Inquisitor had heart in the right place but sometimes she just didn't understand how much effort Dorian must have usually put in appearing strong. Not that he did his best to leave this effort unnoticed. Nontheless, figuring things out did not appear that easy while the other side of the coin was frustratingly absent.

"And I've compromised myself again. I suppose I should stop blathering about myself before I start reminiscing the past, or doing something equally corny", Dorian chuckled, pretentiously cheerful. "How are _you_ doing, my dearest friend? You're in good health, I hope?"

"Yes, absolutely. We're making the ends meet with the friends of Red Jenny", Lavellan laughed silently. "There's really nothing to talk about. My life hasn't been as hectic as yours recently." But with dear Sera it would never be a dull moment, without a doubt.

"Well, you're absolutely right about that one, it might be hard do catch up with me", Dorian said. "Anyway, I am overjoyed that I could hear your voice again. Would you excuse me now, I have some Magisterium business on my back all the time. Keep warm, my friend, and remember your fellow magister."

"I won't bother you anymore. Best wishes, Dorian. Until the next time", Lavellan said before the crystal filled with the vibrating sound again, until it faded out completely.

These little things, the sending crystals, were a true novelty of Tevinter magical engineering. They could change the way people communicated all over Thedas if only they weren't a closely guarded secret of senior enchanters from Minrathous. Getting just a pair as a "unique token of appreciation for Inquisitor's contributions" required too much paperwork and swindling. Fortunately, this time Dorian had the opportunity to justify himself with his ambassadorship. Any attempt to obtain them in private would be futile.

There were more things that could change Thedas for better if only there were allowed to come to light. Like, the magic of this lady Ligannis. Dorian could almost imagine a global change in Harrowing procedures. People would not have to die over the test with an experienced mage by their side, they could be led through it several times. It would strenghten the bond between the apprentice and his master, as much as the latter would take part in the ritual. Remarkable, meaningful things could be achieved through such an improvement. By the way, Dorian could ask Ligannis about her tattoo. She had a pattern on her left shoulder that looked like a real magical sigil. Dorian was dying to have a longer conversation with the girl. To learn how all her magic worked, or if she had studied the craft of the Mortalitasi by chance. Dorian heard that some spirit healers acted entirely on their intuition, but Ligannis was not the case. She must have known more advanced anatomy at least.

Lucius brought Dorian out of his meditation, announcing Cato Augur. What did that butcher want with him so soon? Could he have found new information? Did something need to be discussed eye to eye? Dorian entertained Augur in the office, with his dark leather boots mutilating Father's desk – Dorian's petty sweet revenge. If he were to remain a magister at all, he felt obliged to defy some boundaries of decency.

"Mornin', magister. It's about your agent ring", Augur said. "Soon you'll get a little gift from me. A new cook. I've been helping slaves, former slaves and families of war veterans a bit. And they sometimes do me a favour. So, you have a new cook now. A cook who will find the mole and tell them the best timing to assassinate you in the days to come. Like you've got sick and won't leave your bed for a week, and it would be such a shame if the illness turned out terminal really fast, like _overnight_. It would be our timing, naturally. In due time, we could surprise the assassins with my pretty face instead of yours. Pros: I get a chance to cow the guys, to draw my sword maybe. You get the mole and the sent guys, and send a message that they shouldn't mess with you. Cons: you'll have to put me up for some time and lend me your bed in the key moment. But worry not, I don't have anything contagious. Ambiguous factors: we could get dead drunk together afterwards. How does this sound to ya?", Augur grinned wide.

Augur wasn't likely to develop into Dorian's favourite drinking comrade but all the rest of the plan appeared sensible.

"Sounds like the advantages outweight the shame related. This isn't half bad a plan."

"I'm glad you agree. By the way... if the cook is good enough, can she stay for good? The labour market is a bit hard on liberated slaves."

"I'll figure something out. What about the mission in the South?"

"I have some acquaintances. Some are my buddies from the old times. Good soldiers, no deserters or filthy cowards. Nothing to pick on if you care about reputation. Would gladly swing their weapons for a little memory trip and a flask of good Tevinter rye."

"And how quick would you gather these men?"

"With a little precautionary surplus... we should be ready for something substantial as soon as we sober up after Satinalia. It would be a waste to celebrate on the road."

"True enough. We will need to prepare", Dorian nodded. Fortunately, Augur did not want to stay for a casual chit-chat. Dorian would dismiss the guest anyway, as Maevaris and magister Nigidio wanted to meet him in the Orlesian restaurant by Plaza Danarii to talk about some reform projects. He could as well take a walk around the bright, spacious Altus district filled with antique spirit and eye-catching shop stands. His favourite tailor should have already changed the display. Dorian was so preoccupied with the Magisterium business and his personal issues that he found no time for any simple and shallow treats for his body and mind. Dorian stroke his temples with a hand to discover that his tidy undercut was gradually turning into shaggy mess. He was in desperate need of a haircut. Or maybe he should leave it be? Pretended neglect was becoming fashionable.

The display of I. & S. Minnulis' boutique lured with bolts of the finest fabric, Nevarran lace, golden threads and embroidery cotton in all the colours of the world – a true feast for Dorian's tired eyes. He recalled watching as his Mother, still young and a bit less predatory (as he fantasised), embroidered dragons and sea creatures on his pillows, and he would often make up stories of their wild adventures. "Don't you want to save a princess, Dorian? - Princesses are dull! I 'll tame the dragon and keep it for myself!" Of course, he changed his mind as soon as he saw a real dragon. Also, when he learned that the largest dragons actually were inconsolable princesses.

Dorian could order a robe from Minnulis – bleached leather or dragonling scalp, lined up with finest cotton, in the colours of leaf green or antique gold, a fancy collar that could be spread like a cape. A layered bottom, to be detached anytime, with adjustable potion belt and many tiny pockets. Semi-formal, convenient but still simply dashing. Would fit with father's old battle gauntlets and greaves. It would cost a fortune, true to that, but Dorian was taught never to cut down on fashion. Shoulders? Slightly extended, the vest necessarily fitted in the waist. Or maybe not. On second thoughts, Dorian had rather not think about the direction his waist had been taking recently. He even neglected the practice in staff wielding. Maevaris would finger at every inch of cloth bursting at the seams, undoubtedly causing a scandal.

Dorian snapped out of his fantasy as Plaza Danarii opened up before his eyes, bustling as always. By the covered market hall, he went upstairs without crossing the stalls, and entered an open rooftop terrace with Orlesian decorations. The place was kept bright and lively like the centre of Val Royeaux itself. Southern floral ornaments lavished with gold and red leather were somewhat heartwarming. Each corner of the terrace housed a peculiar hybrid, a lion with dragon wings and tail. Restaurant's open portico was covered with frescos of Tevinter serpents and brave heroes of the Steel Age. Even a place like this could not avoid some cheering propaganda against the Qunari nation – or perhaps _especially_ a place like this, stone's throw from the Senate, with a clear view on Chantry spires, surrounded by chunks of stone floating loosely thanks to magical maintenance, towering above the nearest cross-streets. The great Minrathous, his Minrathous: unspeakably beautiful, yet apalling with this dreadful awareness that a piece of history could crumble on his head anytime. The restaurant, as it was, created pleasant balance between the unshakable national tradition and Orlesian novelties. Behind a row of lush flowerpots, in the covered part of the restaurant, Dorian saw Mae's fair head. He greeted her and Nigidio with a casual polite grin.

"Aren't you cold, my dear?", Maevaris asked ironically, waving a hand fan. "Something tells me this autumn is going to be unforgivable... For everyboy except magister Pavus. Don't you ever overheat walking in full gear like this?"

"There is a cool breeze, Maevaris", he replied.

"This breeze saves me from suffocating", Mae puffed. "But do sit down, we should get our cold beverages soon." An orchid, she'd always call him, and Dorian always felt offended. Orchids were too vulnerable, too whimsical, hating any foreign soil. Borrowing their life force from the presence of endemic fungus, as he read in one book about the Northern forests. Still, Dorian Pavus survived being replanted from his native soil.

"What about the sewerage?", magister Nigidio asked.

"What could we expect?", Maevaris huffed. "The majority of the Magisterium thinks it's an unnecessary spending, claiming that the Soporati districts can make do with buckets and gutters as it always has. This is absurd. Can't they see all these swelling buildings, extended beyond any safety rules? Minrathous won't extend horizontally so it builds up to the sky. By the half of the age won't see the Argent Spire from beneath the slums."

"And what about our greatest pauper right defender Kallikrates?", Dorian joined in.

"Labrusci... was supposed to be here too but the hangover after his last orgy turned out too strong."

"Someone should teach him orgies the hard way", Dorian rubbed his temples.

"You should do that yourself", Mae cracked a slutty grin. "His arse could get loosened a bit... just enought to take the broom out." Heracles Nigidio cackled. Dorian half-smiled out of pure courtesy. He could _never_ bring it home to Maevaris that he was disturbed by _any_ remark which brought him _anywhere_ close to an unforeseen exposure. Enough that the fuss after 9:38 had slowly died away when Dorian was away with the Inquisition. But of course Maevaris Tilani enjoyed her dirty jokes too much. Still, he must have admitted that Kallikrates was quite stuck up.

"Dear Heracles, perhaps you can convince your close friend Verantia Ligannis to cooperate with us on regular basis. She is more familiar with the Soporati than any of us, and she seems to have more head than certain members of our faction. If she took some joint action, she could even become a magister by promotion from the Circles. For the time being, I'm sure she can advocate the expansion of the sewerage."

"I'm sure she could speak for herself", Nigidio replied, looking somewhat troubled.

On that day, Dorian spent two more hours talking about waterworks in Minrathous and poor unpermitted buildings in the slums, with reform projects in prospect. As they spoke, he was becoming more and more convinced that Heracles Nigidio was, sadly, just another noble idler with very vague peception of external reality. It came as no surprise. Dorian would probably be a hopeless spoiled lordling as well if he hadn't spent several months in the slums without livelihood, disowned by Alexius and afraid do return home, clinging to any primitive work he could find: from carrying water to scratching pidgeon shit off the sloppy shaking multi-story tenements like the ones Maevaris had mentioned. Not exactly the time he would wish to remember, but it taught him a lesson, mostly some respect for the Soporati. Perhaps some Lucerni should be forced into a few months of obligatory poverty? In the marshes of Southern Ferelden, for example. Living in a stable without access to soap, or something from that tier of the things that would repulse an average Tevinter aristocrat. It was amazing how every little experience from Dorian's journies could pay off eventually.


	9. IX – The Libel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lucerni make a major PR move while the libel against them spreads. Mae wants to seize the opportunity, Dorian is rather distressed that somebody might get interested in his less honourable endeavours.

Magical flames in Mae's fireplace flickered lazily, only bursting from time to time whenever they received their portion of food: printed brochures, all spilling calumny at the Lucerni; precisely, on Lucerni's two main figures on behalf of the entire faction. Magister Tilani picked them up, one by one, with a glass of brandy in her hand. Poor Dorian refused to digest it all clear-headed.

The "true guardian of the Imperium" part sounded dangerously familiar. The people who fancied the label of truth were usually one and the same kind. Just as predictable as sickening: "devotion to the tradition" meant the Old Gods, "pragmatic approach" meant status quo in their favour, and "bold measures" meant demon conjuration or hiring third parties under the table to keep their hands clean. Very few with position established through generations, like the late Halward Pavus, dared to speak their mind without half-truths or double meanings. Or ones too agreeable to have any enemies until they became expendable, like her Father. 

The Lucerni had a chance to earn some good fame just by virtue of their novelty if they played it out well. Young Circle apprentices should fall for the freshness. And Dorian's hearty charm, if he realised that he could and should aim to bewitch the public _in flesh_ , not just according to his usual bragging. "Be careful with that Pavus", the Archon told her once. "Got knocked off his stride. Does he think nobody can see that overdone self-appraisal? You know what happens to an egg put straight into boiling water? It cracks, that's what happens. We don't need poached-egg-delicate dandies, Tilani. Show him where his balls are before the harpies tear them out. Or before I lose patience with your private kindergarten." One could think Goatee was never blunt enough. Mae preferred her former master calmed down, surrounded by a pack of cats. But Goatee was so harsh because he wanted the Lucerni to survive the storm. The new Arishok added a few wrinkles to his face too, as he was said to have rather ingenious ideas to pull Imperial leg. Like the trick with their Saarebas and lyrium, as Dorian told Mae in deepest secrecy. Anyway, without Archon's silent support, faction's existence would be impossible.

"Ha! That one's sweet. Look at it, Dorian!", Mae stuck a printed brochure right in his face. "If they keep up with this imagery we might soon have our own dedicated dirty magazine. _Lusty Mae and Randy Shmavus_ , _your monthly portion of nude political intrigue_ ", she giggled and clapped her hand against the armrest.

"You amusement astonishes me", magister Pavus sighed and reluctantly took a glimpse on the leaflet. " _Can you feel the breath of the Qunari on your neck? Pavus did when_... No. That's... just no!", he shouted out, eyes flaring with anger, crumbled the paper and tossed it across the room. If he was any close to pale-skinned, the colour would certainly drain out of his face. Dorian covered the forehead with his hand, withdrawn into himself. He must have wondered if they knew. If they found out about his horned mate.

"Nonetheless, I'd like to see an issue featuring muscular Qunari gentlemen", Tilani poked Dorian with a finger. "That would earn us a fortune... for the statutory costs, naturally. Can you imagine how many people in Tevinter must be attracted to this stuff... in secret?"

Dorian forced a faint smile and smacked her lightly with another brochure rolled into a tube, struggling in vain to to dispel a blush storming his face. "The tongue ever turns to the aching tooth, I can see. Don't get your hopes up. At this rate, they surely won't indulge our taste."

"Oh don't worry about my taste. Somehow I'm more into filthy rich chubby deshyrs. With their own gem mines."

"They will keep on playing _the_ tune. The deviation", Dorian said.

"Hmmm?", Mae hummed with her mouth full of brandy before she swallowed. "And what of it?", she shrugged.

Sadness clouded her friend's face, more prominent than before. "I don't know if I want this sack to open once again."

Mae stirred her drink on the bottom of her glass and leant towards him. "Pavo, my dear, if you keep on taking all of this so personally, you'll be an object of applied necromancy soon enough."

"This time it's different, Maevaris. This time all the faction will be insulted. Owing to me and everything written in the words _excess_ and _debauchery_. Admit that the label of pariah-hood _can_ give a few people a bad name."

"What's with these premature prophecies of doom? The people in the Lucerni know what they signed up for."

"They don't know _all_ the truth, that's the point. Somebody may want to divide us against each other. The Lucerni will ask questions, and they ought to learn the truth", Dorian said, his voice strained from old familiar tribulation. Mae's expression hardened. Now she was, for a change, deadly serious. Just leave Pavo with his own thoughts for a minute. An orchid? More like the trembling mimosa.

"I know where you're going, and I suggest you'd rather not. There's no need to rub salt in old wounds, Dorian. You think Labrusci or others will keep to the straight and narrow path because they heard some accusations? Your being our second force is enough for an explanation. I thought you hate being pressured into troublesome confessions." After all these years he could still pop out with these melancholic fits, still not in good terms with himself. What more could Mae do to show him, with her own example, that this way led nowhere? She wasn't going to start a matchmaking salon to soothe his craving for acceptance any time soon. "They'll want to know, you tell them. They wrinkle their noses, we put them off for being petty. Simple as that." Dorian leered at her unconvinced. He wouldn't listen, at least not at once.

"I'm afraid that it won't ever be _only_ your affair again, my friend. That's what it's like in the spotlight", Maevaris carried on. Dorian's issues always turned up accompanied by Mae's dull headache. "As for me, who says my _face_ is what they'll get? You've always said it should be nobody's concern who and how turns you on, right? Well, you're right because that shouldn't define anything. Live up to these words. Make it irrelevant to becoming a slur against you. Maybe in due time you'll get to fight for some social rights", she stroke his arm with a slick hand carrying a single turquoise ring. "There are much more serious concerns for the Lucerni and more graceful ways to stir up a scandal for now. Like refraining from blood magic. Admit that in this matter we're all filthy sinners", her face beamed again.

"Can _you_ make these matters irrelevant?", he sighed. "It was too easy in the South. I shouldn't have weaned myself away from being despised." One time Dorian fell into place perfectly, the other he twisted and wriggled like in a harness, the sad face half-begging people to put him down. Was that how it would look like after he returned – Halward's bitter disappointment immortalised on account of riding Dorian's back? Maevaris silently watching over him as he faked smiles, bowed and obeyed the etiquette after he had packed all his business tightly into the wardrobe? Keep it up, one more reckless push with a leg, the wardrobe would burst and spill its rags out. Not the most pleasant view it would be, Dorian's dirty underclothes spilt out on the floor. Another few months or so swashbuckling about Minrathous brothels, running from emissaries like he used to, most likely, until somebody finally forced him to snap out. Or didn't manage to force him. An icy shiver crawled down Mae's neck.

"I've decided what matters long ago. Won't give bastards the satisfaction", she pulled the brochure out of Dorian's hand and threw it into the fire with a stone cold expression. The flames showed their gratitude with eager popping. "I only wonder why they bother to waste resources on straightforward insults. It's quite low-end for this tier of competition."

"I tell you it's about me. You've been in the business all the time. They know you're unbreakable. Now I am back, and they will set all eyes on me and my vices, and they'll use them to slander all of us. A deviant, a runaway, a pariah trying to reclaim his place at the trough, acting all important because he was born in a noble family. Deep inside, just an upstart peasant just like all the rest. Entering the perfectly organised party uninvited and taking a piss into the garden fountain."

"But my dear, why suddenly feel guilty about it when it used to fill you with pride? Aren't we all contemptible to them? That's a part of their game. That's why we should all make it look like we're being flattered. Enjoy the attention. Transform insults with your natural charm", Maevaris wiggled her eyebrows. Apparently, taking pride in being an outcast only felt great as long as Dorian's words or actions didn't matter beyond the Waking Sea. His ambassadorship mattered more for the Inquisition than to anybody in the North. But being a magister? Now that every Dorian's move mattered, his personal history must have stabbed him in the side. Better late than never.

"Oh, perhaps I should send them flower baskets as an incentive? Convert it into a proper mating ritual? I don't know about you, Maevaris, but I'd rather not lure all of the candidates to my private chambers. My mansion would overcrowd with assassins left unemployed. I'm not that quick in typing names to be obliviated."

"Just don't turn this name typing into a pastime, or the Magisterium would depopulate at a suspicious rate", Maevaris touched her friend's hand. "I'd rather see the look on some faces reacting to unambiguous compliments from you", she lifted her eyebrows. "For now, we keep it cool. Focus on our goal. Until it's us they attack not our purpose, we are the ones at the top. Speaking of the purpose – our boys have lined out a real party manifesto. Come back in the evening, we have a little literary soirée. _The Lanterns_... There's so much potential in the symbolism. Let's just hope they won't get carried away with references to the Chant, though. Blackie won't like it." One thing for sure, they were urged to speak their mind, to define their stance. They were the minority obliged to explain themselves. Apparently not important enough to cause a real backlash, but it wouldn't last long. The impetus of Inquisition's support would soon die out. If it wasn't for the poor Felix Alexius, Maker preserve him if He'd ever existed, even that would not matter to the Magisterium. But very well. If their opponents wanted the games to begin, the Lucerni could not sit on the fence.

Mae had already addressed the healer girl about safety measures against blood magic. A great trump card. Another reason to see the dumb look on some faces. Dorian jiggled about in the seat, letting her know that he had had enough preaching from his auntie for the day. Very well, she could let him go, with a fruity smooch on the cheek and a grinning remainder to think about what they discussed.

She shouldn't have invested so much energy in nursing him, but the poverty in his pupils always turned out stronger than diplomatic reserve. Mae smiled, walked around in circles, fed him with whatever tenderness she still had in her thickened bones, to see a faint smile of the tormented magister. Dorian _had_ this effect. Still, she wasn't yielding enough to make these moments of weakness a regularity. If only she wouldn't be the one forced to kick him on the head one day.

 

* * *

 

As if he didn't know about it all. The flouncing, the laughable mismatch, the weight of expectations. Tripping in circles, one word nibbling his thighs like a stray dog: perfection. It wasn't enough to be _just_ good. He needed to be absolutely perfect, and perfection implied that he would be rightfully recognised for his effort. Well, he was already _nearly_ perfect, though people rarely saw it. As an outcast and vagabond, he could at least exceed most expectations: _What? This man has something to say after all?_  Not a vagabond anymore, somehow all the willingness to show off all the panoply of his natural talents faded out. Not the nicest thing, being told off for when trying his best to do what was right.

"Idealism from Hessarian's age", the Archon snorted in response to Dorian's project of amendment to the laws, proposing gradual steps leading to full supervision of blood magic use. A proposal also serving other purposes, as its first small step implied obligatory public registration of death causes. Among the magi, Soporati _and_ slaves.

Enough courtesy that he made an appointment to tell Dorian off face to face, with no witnesses who would use it to their advantage. "But who will vote for it, at this rate? Should I remind you that you need _actual_ support?" Not a sentence without jeer, it was worse than listening to Father. "Where do you live, Pavus, under a rock?" - well, the Archon did not say _that_ one out loud, but it came to mind as a natural corollary.

But no, Archon's face softened up, just a tiny bit, his tone slightly more benevolent. "Careful, magister. Many people in the Senate think that they are masters of deceit. They are also the most hard-headed, by chance. And, sadly, they can only be overcome with deceit. Try to outsmart them, not to enrage them. You know what usually happens to those who shout that blood magic should be forbidden. Your ideas aren't futile, but they need a different justification. Something closer to the common opinion. Like control over plagues, or concern about wasting resources, something like that."

Now, it turned out that Dorian couldn't even lie or utilize half-truths like a decent magister. Father at least shared the same hopeless idealism most of the time. With one exception, seemingly so close to his heart. The epitome of unwanted imperfection.

The Magisterium turned out even more bitter than it seemed at first: the more obvious the cynicism, the better. On the opposite scale there were the rare bone-headed, straight-laced individuals like Father, never bowing, never bending under pressure, but when they were finally broken, it was once and forever, into pieces. How could Maevaris be like a duck in the water among them all? Speaking of Maevaris, she was growing impatient, as expected. Gently pushing Dorian to get a hold of himself. _Make it irrelevant_. For her, for the Lucerni, maybe it was irrelevant, for the time being. It sounded sensible, spoken by Tilani, but Maevaris didn't learn to be herself the hardest way. The difference she had made could never outshine her virtues in her _own parents'_ eyes. She didn't have to aspire to what they wanted.

Stupid wimp, when would you finally recover from all these absurd assumptions? Hadn't the Inquisition proved anything to you? Oh, Lavellan... With all the accusations she faced herself, Dorian was ashamed to complain about his own offense. Still, with her it seemed so easy to tell everybody to shove their gossip down their Chantry-whitewashed...

But maybe that was the answer? Since he managed to survive all the tragic misunderstanding from his own father, since nobody took the slander seriously in the South where the single outstanding Tevinter was deemed the source of all evil, who could deal a heavier blow now, when blows were expected from everywhere? If only he could stop overreacting and start thinking. Maevaris had a good head on her shoulders. And she had already done too much for him.

Still, anything could become relevant if properly used against them. How could Dorian stop worrying? He could never stop worrying, he just stopped responding to insults. Nonetheless, at least half of the Lucerni would probably stop talking to him if they found out that he laid claim to _any_ moral righteousness while being... _that_. The kind that made most people wrinkle their noses and wonder whether he had _even tried_ to be proper, or he was just an egoistical hedonist all along. Likely also his own faction, the people he should be able to call friends. Some Lucerni already pretended to be crystal clear, and they needed to be corrected about that quickly.

In the South they were merciful, but in the Imperium? They would show this haughty sense of privilege, stinking superiority. That wouldn't be the worst, though. He only hoped they wouldn't feel like excluding him from their political pursuits. All alone, where would Dorian be with all the accusations of debauching the youth of the Altus with his "subversive thought", perhaps _more_ than the thought? Prejudice ran strong in Tevinter blood. On the other hand, how could this bunch of greenhorn rhetoricians kick him out of the faction? Dorian was needed, with his bright mind and with his spirit. With the Lucerni he stood a chance at least. That was all that should matter.

In all of it, the image of a simple horse face of Cato Augur, his immortal whiff of soldier's liquor and tobacco confiscated from Tal-Vashoth renegades, all of it soothed the mind more than a prospect of any luxurious entertainment. Maybe it was the faint aftertaste of Fereldan hills and freedom? If only Dorian wouldn't turn into a simple commoner in that company. Interesting what attractions the veteran was preparing in the villa for any unwelcome guests. The last time he gave the magister the report on his work, there was too much talking about systems of traps and Augur's connections in the Minrathaean community of Kal-Sharok refugees. The latter could be at least interesting.

Dorian came back home on foot, as usually, not allowing himself to forget about physical strain completely. About time he started to train again – his arms were going limp and wiggly, chest flattening. Unforgivable. If Iron Bull saw him like that, he'd deride Dorian like an errand boy. Or, even worse, like a serving girl. Compliment him on growing "nice tits". Yes, more physical training wouldn't hurt. It could take Dorian's mind off unpleasant consideration in other matters, as to whether his whisky intake hadn't increased almost imperceptibly once again.

He didn't even feel hunger, he just asked for a plate of fresh fruits into his office. Another boring reading was in prospect: balance sheets, the monthly report from Asariel's overseer, Augur's faux cover correspondence about loose clusters of frustrated freed slaves that couldn't accommodate to the slums, the only place they could count on right after their liberation. From between endless parchments a short rolled note, half-embedded in wax, as if carried by a raven, popped out. If somebody had opened it on the way, they were flawless in covering their tracks, and intangible, at least for a while. Dorian squeezed it in the hand to crumble the seal and read the message:

> The first week of Kingsway, ten miles SW from Trevis. Target visible from the hills. Blockheads snoopin' around. Danger tier: hyena. Smash the hyenas to lure dragon hunters... or don't trust me. I'm a liar.

Having read the last word, Dorian jumped up in his chair so hard that he almost flipped over. He could only hope that the mole in the house did not reach his private correspondence. Only one person he knew would openly admit to their ambiguous nature. As far as the magister knew the liar in concern, he had looked around four times before he finally decided to send a message, pestered by his second-in-command that he couldn't have everything in control at that rate. But at least he would get to kill some Vints soon. And he would certainly consider a third party setting a trap which would excite his special ex-Ben-Hassrath sense. _Now_ Dorian had to hurry with the workout. He rolled the note into a tiny poach on the inner side of his belt. Better not burn it right away to save the hints. Meanwhile, he could check if there happened to be a training mannequin in one of the desolate storage rooms. He didn't need to bother the servants until he would actually have to transport anything. Apart from that, it wouldn't hurt to know the unoccupied parts of the house.

There was plenty of free space for servants and other collaborators in the wing which held the stables, servants' workshops, guard quarters and storage rooms. Maids and kitchen servants lived in the main part of the villa, in several smaller chambers built around the sitting-room. Dorian crossed the atrium and left it through a sculpted gateway, connected with a lesser version of a war room, intended to be used pretty soon. The guards clunk the heels of their boots and raised their chins. Dorian left the room to a narrow spiral staircase and climbed upstairs.

Nothing but endless clutter and dust, it seemed at first. The magister could sneeze his lungs and cry his eyes out from the clouds of dust, rising every time he moved something in one of the abandoned rooms. Spare furniture, including dirty, ashen sculpted chairs. A long couch with a hole in the emerald-coloured upholstering. Musical instruments, some with broken strings, even a vertical loom and piles of smelly yarn, half-consumed by clothes moths (did Mother use it in her spare time?). Formal suits, about a hundred years out of fashion. A vanity with chipped varnish, decorated with delicate vine ornaments, sprinkled with gold paint, with faded decorative insertions of drake bone. It would fit perfectly into Dorian's chambers. It had convenient little drawers to keep plenty of cosmetics in one place. An item worthy of confirming Dorian's beauty. One room contained only a large feast bed that could hold three or four people side by side in reclining position. Who would abandon such treasures? The antecedents of the self-loathing Pavus marriage – a fairly recognised bloodline of House Thalrassian who have left the mansion as their daughter's dowry? This part of the villa begged for stocktaking. Lucius must have known about it. Sadly, he never showed initiative in the matters of housekeeping, or gave his principal any hints unasked.

Coughing and sniffling, shrinking under a thick veil of dust covering him from head to toe, cuffing the dirt off his body with every step he took, Dorian returned downstairs to bathe before dinner and the Lucerni meeting. As time passed, it took him more and more effort not to pity two elven eunuchs who looked after hygienic matters. Since Dorian became a magister, he saw more and more issues of everyday life demanding to be corrected or at least regulated by law. How could he waste his time to play half-truths if so many things screamed to be called by name? If only he didn't stop enjoying life in that mental fervent. Be it that exhausting fixation on reforms, or the hot water with aromatic oils, the magister almost snoozed in the bathtub. He could stay like that forever, but there was pressing Magisterium business, as always.

He rushed through the dinner and to Tilani's place, once more. Being all alone in the large house, he lacked his friends. He lacked someone to talk to, in flesh, not just through a crystal trinket. He lacked his amatus, to slowly learn from each other what it meant to be _together_. The only promise of union with others there, in Tevinter, was burried somewhere deep within his political faction. But could they unite only by virtue of the common goal?

He entered Mae's parlor, like his second home, most of the guests already sitting down. Labrusci pestering Nigidio about something – the first magister gesticulating boldly, the other nodding with his head down. Maevaris was sending the characteristic half-flirtatious smile when she talked to Augustus Ephidios whose hands were slightly shaking, holding a rolled parchment. Even Livia was there, ostentatiously turning away whenever she met Dorian's eyes. These were the notable figures. The rest were clueless girls and boys, only entering their adult life, who needed to be shown the ropes. Quite likely, also to be taken in as apprentices pretty soon, as political views had always influenced the matters of magical tutorial – even in the Circles, allegedly neutral. Maker only knew how they would react to the programme of the new faction, especially interested in addressing the youth.

Chin up, Pavus, whatever you do, you are setting an example. You're a marvel among them, you couldn't be different. He circled the room greeting everybody, bowing to the ladies with tiny compliments, making the sweet Gabinii heiress blush. He was promptly scrutinized by Livia's smirk threatening that she knew all his filthy secrets. His bitter would-be wife showed vain satisfaction whenever Dorian had to bow to her, even if it was only common courtesy.

He finally approached Maevaris, barely touching her back, another greeting within limits of propriety.

"Dorian! You're sneaking up so humbly that you probably want something from me?", she teased.

"Just to take pleasure in seeing you blossom. Are we still waiting for somebody?"

"Actually, yes, for your new folks. I thought they should see that too. The beginning of a great change... or a great failure."

"My new folks? You mean Augur, and...?"

"The healer, naturally. You're the one who said she could aid us."

"I don't intend to take it back."

A few minutes later the Laetan girl came in, dressed in a bright embroidered robe with a leather corset, her braid a little more tidy, done up at the back of her head. She rushed to hang on Nigidio's neck, and remained to cling to him, treading water and looking around the room nervously. Nigidio apologised magister Labrusci politely, pointed at Maevaris and Dorian, and walked the girl towards them.

"Pardon my fair lady, she's not used to attending the salon parties. Not yet. You already know each other, don't you? But a formal introduction is in place. Verantia Ligannis, a member of the Minrathous Circle, associate to the Vyrantium Circle, and my paramour." In the social circles, such introductions were, in fact, all weighty. They were statements of alliance and protection. A mistress, who would have thought... Neither engaged nor already married? Could her Laetan status get in their way? Ligannis bobbed hurriedly, winking a few times in disbelief when Maevaris reached out to shake hands.

"Maevaris Tilani, head of House Tilani, the second quaestor of Quarinus, a magister, member of the Circle in Carastes, the originator and first leader of this gathering known as the Lucerni", Mae bowed.

"Dorian, head of House Pavus, Lord of Asariel, a former member of the Second Inquisition and ambassador thereof to the Imperium. A former member of the Circle in Minrathous, briefly affiliated with Vyrantium... and a magister, naturally", Dorian rolled his eyes slightly. Soon the Inquisition would mean nothing in the North, but it never hurt to mention it among one's affiliations as long as its legend still had some impetus. Let alone it filled Dorian with pride like nothing else in his life.

"No need to be so tense, baby, show more confidence. Nobody out here will try to eat you alive. If they try, I'll eat them first", Mae smiled at Lady Verantia. "Herathinos realised her mistake, didn't she?", magister Tilani turned at Dorian.

"Absolutely. She's surprisingly low-key today, even in my presence", Dorian replied. "But pardon my insolence toward you, Lady Ligannis. Pleased to see you, and I hope that you will accommodate quickly. The company gets less stiff as soon as you get through all the exchange of titles", he bowed with his usual charming half-smile.

Soon after the final guest arrived, entering with bouncy soldier's walk, wearing crimson formal armour of an Imperial Laetan battlemage, two badges pinned to his chest, with his dark grey hair tamed with sugar gel. Augur's solemn expression softened each time a curious magister approached to introduce. He was unhampered but still polite, apparently knowing how much he could afford in the company of aristocrats.

"Yes, my Lord, I actually used to be a governor of Alam, strange as it may seem. The place _was_ captured by the Imperium. Unfortunately, it happened only once, lasted as briefly as two months, and had rather tragic consequences. Please allow me to spare you the details. Still, the gold in my lapel is genuine", Dorian heard the veteran explain.

Everybody was shown their places: Maevaris, Dorian to her right, Nigidio with Ligannis on his side, Ephidios, Augur (the furthest from the host), then on the other side of the long low table: the youngsters, Labrusci, and Livia Herathinos on Mae's left, always sitting opposite to Dorian to remind him of her disgrace. The servants started rushing with plates of food and wine, and Maevaris spoke:

"I've called this little assembly because our sweet Augustus has made the effort to put our first self-presentation into words. These matters cannot be overlooked, and I would like everybody to be satisfied with the image we're going to create. Bear in mind that our declarations will be scrutinized, and each failure to adhere to them – used against us. Thus, I need absolute univocal agreement concerning our manifesto. I have sent to you the propositions of reforms coined by our dear Dorian and Kallikrates which are arguably the boldest thing we could aim at in our political existence. These are specifics. But today we're dealing with something else, we're dealing with an overall picture, a catchphrase to reach the citizens of the Imperium. Serah Ephidios, please begin, then we will discuss it."

The words were formulated in the high rhetoric style taught by master Quadrigalis from Marnas Pell, attempting to combine ornate decorum with accuracy of thought. There was something about the light metaphor – quite predictable things, the association of light with knowledge, allusions to blood magic and such. Some analogies suggestive enough to define their opponents, but also vague enough to avoid reaction from anyone in particular. The parchment circled the Lucerni, passed on with a quill and inkpot. Dorian mostly suggested to refine vocabulary in some places, and he added one strong sentence in the middle of the text. Augur nodded to himself as he read. Labrusci passed, saying that he had already submitted his suggestions. Livia looked at the parchment carefully, and added some remarks on the margin. Questions appeared: So, the target weren't only the magi, but vulgati as well? Perhaps they should turn the liberal tone down? Wasn't the admission to truth dangerous? Too many people in the Imperium admitted to knowing the truth. Well, not admission to the truth itself, maybe, but to the pursuit of truth – certainly. Like real philosophers, just trying to work in practice, unlike the ones who shut themselves away in Circles, deliberating whether the Fade was a realm, a state of mind, or a combination of both, or if spirits had any sense of selfhood (none of them knew individuals like Cole, unfortunately).

The manifesto made a full circle and was written up again, then presented once more in its nearly final form:

> _Our past is dark, our conscience stained, our decline – self-imposed. It is time to reverse the great mistakes:_
> 
> _glory earned by those who tread on the bones of the enslaved,_  
>  _power gained by those who spill blood of the unwilling,_  
>  _fame granted to those who revere the old darkness,_
> 
> _abasement to the enslaved,_  
>  _oblivion to the sceptical,_  
>  _death to the defiant._
> 
> _Illumination does not obscure its means. Knowledge does not know privilege._  
>  _Judgment strikes evenly among the living. Mercy is gentle and reassuring._
> 
> _To the confused and abandoned we bring a spark of knowledge, hope for illumination,_  
>  _a drop of mercy, a promise of judgment:_
> 
> _separate the wheat from the chaff, teach those kept under illusion,_  
>  _release those deprived of their right._
> 
> **_Only with truth can we save the Imperium._ **
> 
> _Not through conquest, not with old forgotten names,_  
>  _but with strain of our muscles and minds._  
>  _Not to restore the ancient, but to build the Imperium anew,_  
>  _upon the good will of all its people._
> 
> _The light is the harbinger of truth to our eyes, just as blood_  
>  _runs through the veins, and the sun lets our wheat grow._
> 
> _**We are the Lanterns, and we call everyone with eyes to see:** _  
>  _be faithful to your eyes. Call things by name, be it virtue or iniquity._  
>  _We are the Lanterns to feed our eyes with suffering and injustice,_  
>  _and from our witness spread the understanding._  
>  _From understanding sprouts mercy, from mercy – justice._
> 
> _We are the Lanterns to voice the mute, remind the forgotten._  
>  _It is the darkest right under the lantern, thus there mustn't be just one._  
>  _Join our cause, join the Lucerni._

Maevaris looked at the serious faces circling her – sitting at her feet, promising to adhere to these words as long as she would remain their friend and idol, not an usurper of power. From his seat, Dorian had a great view on that woman, sitting on a couch as if it was a throne, two servants rising from behind like granite columns. Maevaris was majestic and gentle, her robe wrinkling like sea foam. She held a cup of wine in her hand, cold light blue eyes glimmering with force.


	10. X – The Decoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cato's plan works twofold: House Pavus captures an agent of an antagonistic organisation, and the magister can't refuse to try the products of his domestic alchemy afterwards.

Villa Pavonis had two wings: one for the house members and servants, painfully obsolete since the late Lord Halward dismissed his last apprentices, ultimately silenced by his death. New lord's lonely presence didn't make much difference. Migrating swiftly between the office, house library, dinery and his bedroom, the new head of the house did his best to falsify the rumours of flamboyance, going out silently, refusing to entertain any guests, save a Laetan army veteran and occassionally his associates from the Magisterium. The other wing was mostly occupied by the stables, a little smithy, guards' quarters and supply rooms, connected with the cellars and a passage to the treacherous maze of city catacombs.

As in most Altus villas, the weak spot was placed right beneath the rooftop, in the sheer space under the thick wooden beams: a trapdoor separating the attic from one of the cluttered storage rooms. A well-informed, stealthy person with a rope ladder could slip in between the beams and climb down. Or they could come through the ancient catacombs, if only they could find their way. Rumours of spirits roaming free right under the oldest districts of Minrathous, ever since the city was founded, kept most citizens away. Anyway, getting inside was the easier part of the task. Next, an unwelcome guest would have to pass the guards by or silence them without causing commotion. They would have to use the steep narrow stairs to get to the ground floor, whether from the cellars or from the servants' wing. There was an easier way to master's part of the villa, but it was also frequently used: a portal straight to the atrium, always guarded, with somebody passing by almost all the time. In typical villas, bedrooms with balconies facing each other were closed with wooden screens in the nights. No, an unwelcome guest would have to make the entire way through concealed servants' passages long way up, to the first floor. Then, they would have to find the right bedroom and perform the task silently.

Assassination, if done by a professional, wouldn't be hard at that point. Assassinations in magisters' own households went completely out of fashion, though, to be replaced by feigned accidents, conveniently issued duels and political scandals. People sometimes joked that the noble houses employed half of the slums as their spies, robbers and mercenaries. Mutilation, blackmail, theft of information – these were a bit more tricky. But collecting blood had been unheard of so far. The target would have to be paralyzed in advance, or immobilized in some other way. It would be perfect to heal them at the instant, possibly with a little help of scrolls, and alter their memory so that they wouldn't even know. But the latter would have to be performed by a blood mage. Igerna was just a common girl, taught the basics of fighting and protecting her life. She could only count on her stealth and two mind-blocking scrolls rolled beneath her suit.

Anyway, the instructions were clear: no harm, as little evidence as possible, just the blood. The Reeds despised mindless killing... so they said, at least. It was her test if she were to become one of them: to bring pure Altus blood to the altar of the Imperial Mother and allow her magic-gifted followers to study. Just another group in Tevinter obsessed with noble blood, one could say. They had been sending agents on a quest to collect samples from selected magisters. What happened to the blood later, only the priestesses knew. The dirty job was given to the low-tier members of the organisation or its initiates, like Igerna herself.

She sneaked up the stairs, swiftly like a cat. According to the plans, the to the right was her target. She unwrapped one of the scrolls for use, letters glimmering faintly with a yellowish glow. Igerna pressed the door gently and embraced the cold darkness of magister's bedroom, and sneaked towards the bed, breathing carefully to make as little sounds as possible. Then she heard rustle, and her heart almost stopped beating. On her right, by something that appeared a couch or an armchair, there was silent scratching, then a hiss and smell of sulfur. A human figure stroke a match and held it agains a long object. Heavy, choking smell of pipe herbs crawled around the room. Then, the figure lighted a candle on the table. A pair of frighteningly bright eyes shone leering at the girl.

"Not bad, not bad at all. Shame you were expected", a hoarse male voice spoke quietly, almost murmuring.

She swallowed without a sound, and pointed her scroll at the man with focus and a clear intent, just as they told her. The parchment whispered something ancient and vicious, but the sound faded out soon, releasing what resembled muffled scream somewhere far away. The entire room shone with light blue glyphs.

"Yeah. Including tricks like mind controlling magic", the voice spoke again with amusement. "Something wrong? Oh, you aren't a mage. You haven't sensed that the Veil has a different vibe here. It happens", the man giggled frighteningly. "It's alright, don't be shy _now_. I could still be polite to you. A cup of tea?", the figure asked. "The servant could call the guards on their way to the kitchen. Or wake the magister up, and I don't know if he would be so nice, woken up so early and forced to skip his morning toilet. There are many nasty options. Or there can be just you and me."

"You aren't the magister", she breathed out with disappointment.

"Do I look like a mag... Oh, pardon me. It's still a bit dark here", the individual produced tiny embers on the tips his fingers and lighted the chandelier. In the dim candle glimmer she could see the coarse complexion, a broken nose and two large scars running through man's face. Definitely not the "young and dandy" one they described to her. He was slouching on the armchair with his legs crossed, his plain shirt wrinkly and gaping, a sword leaning on the armrest.

"Has it crystallised in your head yet? That you've stepped into dragon's jaw? Then sit down, let's have a chat. Just don't try anything you could regret. You wouldn't get out of the mansion without my permission anyway", the man poured something into cups. "Who and why wants magister's misfortune?"

She swallowed again, standing still. Giving the Reeds away wasn't an option.

"Bear in mind that I only need your head and tongue to stay in one piece", she heard.

Blessed Imperial Mother forgive her, she was terrified. The knees trembled, struggling to keep her standing. She failed her test. Whatever happened, Igerna wouldn't be a Reed anymore.

"I... I can't, my lord. They'll find out."

"Sounds like they'd give you a hard time if you did, am I right? But who are they, my dear?", he asked, clinking too loud as he was stirring inside his teacup. "If you tell me, maybe I could find a place far away where you could just do some decent work for the rest of your days. Would be a shame to waste such a pretty elf. Are you a slave? Or liberated? Joined another bunch of crazy people who promise instant freedom to everyone?"

Igerna fell down with her legs numb from fear and strain. The man stood up and took her scrolls away.

"Well, _that_ demands some explanations. Guards! We have most pleasant company!", he called out clearly with officer's refrain. Igerna heard heavy footsteps approaching along the corridor. The guards threw the door wide open and stood at attention, waiting for yet another set of footsteps, quick and thumping, impossible to miss. Another man emerged, full-dressed in light battlemage armour, bouncy and lynx-eyed, wearing a smirk under an extravagant mustache.

"Excellent work, Augur, but I still advocate the idea that we should have lured the agent with the unfailingly irresistible sight of my night outfit", he said to the scarred one.

"Something tells me you're lonelier than you want to admit", the hideous one hissed. "Look what we've got here. The head of the operation knows how to do remote magic. Mind controlling magic. Bad stuff", he passed the scrolls to the haughty one. "That Ligannis deserves a generous pay for the lighting effects. They add to the mood."

"I admire your effort, dear Augur, but I'm afraid we underestimate the true protagonist of tonight's meeting", the dandy one said. "Let me correct this", he turned to Igerna. "I assume you don't even vaguely understand what these scrolls can do, do you? You were just told to trigger the lyrium markings with your willpower, yes? That is why mages make scrolls. So the laymen could trigger simple spells as well. Well, we're dying to know who your paymaster is, the one who has the skill to produce this type of magic."

Between two evils, she preferred to talk to the first she met, the one who apparently had something reassuring to offer.

"We... they are called Calpurnia's Reeds. There are many sorts of people: elves and humans, cutpurses, renegades, spies and mages. I don't know who rules. I mean, the priestesses rule. But I don't know who they are", Igerna sang out. "They would take me in if I passed the test. The person who gave the scrolls to me was just a messenger."

"Great. What test, my dear?", the scarred guy asked. "You mean the harm to be done to the the Magister? What exactly were you told to do?"

Igerna breathed deeply. "Reeds need blood."

"Blood? For things like this, perhaps?", the Magister lifted the scroll. "A true innovation in the inner-fighting between the houses, if just the most ambitious applied it!", he snorted. "And what would these Reeds do with the blood? Make phylacteries like the Circles used to in the South? Store it, then trace all the the misguided and defiant senators? Blackmail them with scrolls like these, or maybe take their minds away at once, or get rid of them discreetly? This might be a nucleus of perfect terror."

"How big and important can these Reeds be?", the older one asked.

"Rumour has it that there are some powerful mages at the top. But it's just a rumour. Everything happens in secret. I don't really know", Igerna trembled convincingly. The priestesses and their sermons must have been kept hidden, by all means.

"You've done enough to help us, child", the mage slurped his tea. "We'd be even more grateful if you tipped some names off."

"My fellow officer, you _could_ show some manners while you ingest in my presence", the magister scolded him. The officer put the teacup away with a daring glance.

"What do you want to do with her?", he asked the magister.

"Keep in the dungeon, for now. We must think how to use her connections."

"You heard it", the scarred one talked to the guards. They clunk their boots and dragged the elf away to the cellar.

 

* * *

 

"Why call it a day when the night is still young?", Augur called out, following the prisoner with his eyes as all the company left Dorian's bed chamber, flexing his back and clasping his hands behind his head in the living room on the first floor, on one of the rare Antivian rugs which didn't look like residual snippets from a dozen tapestries put together without a trace of design. "I'll start investigating later today, but now let's fulfill the last part of our contract. Drink to the little victory, magister. No uncultured sounds this time. You've played the bad, stroppy interrogator well enough." Augur grunted with satisfaction, rubbed his hands and pulled a basket with dark green flasks out.

The only feminine shape Dorian could not resist: their slim concave necks, full bottoms, skin thick and smooth, deadly when broken into pieces. Delicious poisons on the inside. They sat down and began their ritual. Augur unsealed a bottle and poured a little in the glasses, proudly showing off crystal pure surface with sharp fumes.

"Homemade moonshine? Where's your dignity?", Dorian pouted, but the only thing he could _never_ really stand was dwarven ale made from some kind of underground mushrooms. A truly gut-wrenching mixture. If Blackwall saw him drinking plebeian moonshine...

"You're not trying to tell me that you only consume the fancy gourmet stuff with more perfume than real impact? _This_ is a drink, magister", Augur winked and pushed a glass towards him. And so, Dorian found a soulmate in terms of his love for liquor, and he couldn't decite whether he should be glad or right on the contrary. Neither was he sure how he would react to anything stronger than wine. He drank some destilates back in the times of the Inquisition, but it was long ago, and surprisingly capable of loosening his composure. Especially the first evening he allowed the Iron Bull to pour and was treated with _Maraas-lok_ , a thing which felt like actually burning one's throat and guts out. But that was Iron Bull and Dorian's shameful struggle _not_ to be hopelessly fittered by the sight of these magnificent belly muscles. If only he wouldn't get too relaxed in veteran's presence. Blabbing about his connections with the other side of the Seheron conflict would be catastrophic. On the other hand, how could he reject his favourite tool of self-destruction?

"I should tell you what our next move is", Dorian said, delaying the first sip not to look too craving. "I'm withdrawing to Asariel to govern there a little bit, for a change. I'm being noticed, all the time, that the spirits in the area are restless, for whatever reason. It might be just that they can't sense Father anymore and refuse to listen to the overseer, but I must check. Now, something for your ears only", he took a nip and shook a scowl off of his face twisted by bitterness, promising himself to _never_ switch from the gourmet perfumed beverages again. "I want everybody to think that I'll stay there until Mother's party in Quarinus, and that will be no sooner than the dawning of Harvestmere. But with the beginning of Kingsway, I'll make a little excursion to the South. I got in touch with... an old source from the Inquisition. They want to see me near Trevis, in a certain location by the Minanter River bank, I presume. I'd spend no more than three days in the borderland, then return to Asariel, make last preparations for Mother's banquet, and travel to Quarinus by ship. Maker preserve my bottom and my stomach."

Augur squint his eyes. "And you probably have an interest in _not_ letting your agent into Tevinter? Yes, many people would be screwed here. An elf? A Vashoth?" Dorian held his breath and started wondering how to cover this one up. But Augur whisked his hand, emptied his glass with one swig and sunk into the armchair. "Ehhh, nevermind. The more you keep to yourself, the better for them." The magister breathed freely again and drank from his glass with a painful gasp. "You're taking military escort, of course?"

"Just a couple of templars and the food supplies, I suppose."

"Want me to send someone in disguise? If anything bad happened, no-one would manage to come from Asariel with a rescue."

"You think they could strike at a moment like that? Now that we know there's another group which could erase all our efforts with just a drop of my blood? Would my enemies disdain the pleasure of accusations, slander and gossip? It would be the most efficient, but I doubt they could forsake the malignant satisfaction", Dorian finished his first portion of moonshine, welcoming the sweet tingling in his head which saved him from insane despair on regular basis. "For now, I don't seem to have a bone to pick with anybody, like Father appeared to have. His murderers left a notice as if they were settling a score, and that's our most important lead for now", Dorian sighed deeply. "Are these Venatori groups you've mentioned staying near the Western part of the border, by any chance?"

"Closer to the Silent Plains, but we can't rule other groups out."

"Don't worry. I once happened to defend myself from an almost unending wave of demons emerging from the Fade. Until the Veil stopped obeying me and I had to beat them physically. With a staff. The other thing is that I would have to run eventually, hadn't the Inquisitor appeared. It's much easier with mortals though, especially when one can raise corpses", the magister half smiled. "If anything happens, blame the scandal on my foolishness and hot temper, won't be far from the truth."

"Your father seemed powerful and they still got him", Cato grunted. "Not even two bards fifty feet behind?", he tried to bargain.

"Any power clever enough to have gotten my father can't be thwarted with casual safety measures", the magister subtly concealed a burp. "Until we find out more about them, we take great risks whatever we do. Besides, you're dealing with an exceptionally headstrong fool. It runs in the family, you know."

Augur chuckled. "The headstrong kind tends to change their mind after the first great kick in the arse, I can tell you", the soldier poured Dorian another one in silence, a sign that they would change the topic.

"So, you govern Asariel now. A nice piece of land, eh? I've been there during an army visitation years ago. Still standing after the blasted Blight and a wave of oxmen. Won't be a thriving city anymore, but can remain a decent rural settlement. I grew up in the farmland myself, my family used to have fields and orchards by the northern tip of the High Reaches, by the shore of Maferath's Lance. Wish I could get my hands on the plow again one day."

"You mean, you know how to farm? I could use a fairly trusted administrator in Asariel. The current one is getting disobedient, seems he has never liked the family. I can't blame him."

"Would you really do that? Let an old soldier keep his bones in place doing the glorified land owner's work?"

"Sounds like you'd really enjoy it, wouldn't you?", Dorian asked. "Well, I have no idea about cultivation, and the more Father pressed me to learn, the less attention I paid. I'm a city person. I would never force myself to spend a day followed by the smell of druffalo dung, let alone show up with my shoes covered in mud, or even worse, dirt beneath my fingernails. How would I make it with proper grooming?", Dorian shrugged, feeling soiled just as he thought about it.

"You're darn right I would enjoy it, magister!", Augur gave him a strong friendly slap on the shoulder. "I'll make this place prosper, I promise!"

"You will like the place. The spirit overseer is a bit mad, at least that's how I remember her from the last time. But she's a good woman, a real Mortalitasi."

One more bottle emptied itself before the dawn. Augur insisted to go at sunrise, but in the state of mind he was he would break his legs at the first attempt to travel down the stairs. So Dorian packed him into a smaller bedroom by Father's office, once occupied by the apprentices, as he presumed. Fortunately, it occurred before Dorian started losing confidence in his own knees, asking himself in the hindsight if he hadn't told the veteran too much on _any_ matter, and plunged into his bed in everyday underclothes. Thankfully, the only disaster when he woke up at noon was Dorian's wild mane, and eyes swollen from remains of undisposed make-up which was now twice as hard to remove. He needed to run from the light and heard a bit more than he wanted, his muscles were throbbing like on a gloomy, rainy day, but not to an extent he wouldn't be able to conceal. The servants told him that Augur left some time earlier, able-bodied, after he had freshened up in a restroom assigned to the guests' quarters. The night was moderately successful.


	11. XI - Asariel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian takes Cato along to Asariel and is faced with some mind puzzles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me to long, maybe because my brain said "no" to the worldbuilding part.

Archon Davan once thought he found a good way to cut House Pavus down to size. Dorian's Father was entrusted with Asariel, a Maker-forsaken settlement between the Nocen Sea shore and the capricious Sedulo River, stone's throw from Marnas Pell where the Veil was, to a great extent, like Iron Bull's undergarments: hardly present. Dorian heard ancient legends of Asariel being a thriving city in the Great Old Times of Tevinter Glory, but did these legends hold any truth – nobody could tell. Asariel had its moments during the First Blight, got devastated by the great Qunari invasion, and remained permanently defunct for further centuries of underdevelopment. It appeared a splendid place to submerge an inconvenient cub of House Pavus, proud Halward, twenty three at the time, already pretending to match most magisters and desperate to flee from his troublesome spouse and newborn. At the time, Asariel was just a small town with crumbled walls, infested with spirits, shades and the undead, not to mention ravaging wolf packs, some of them possessed. Land owners kept complaining on the lack of profit. It was a slightly warmer and drier version of the hopeless Fallow Mire, only with some remains of city life, as Dorian could now compare. Torrential rains in the winter were pretty much the same when it came to freezing Dorian's limbs off. Sea storms sometimes drew hissing waves to the very town walls.

To everybody's surprise, Pavus _senior_ rolled up his sleeves and pursued intense research in necromancy. Within two years, he was able to purge the undead and bind the remaining spirits to the settlement so they repaired and maintained the port. What was the most scandalous, he did it all _without_ blood magic. At the time, he was still a purist in these matters. Naturally, he he also used the opportunity to buy land dirt cheap. Soon, he could afford a trained Mortalitasi and an administrator, and slowly return to his duties in Quarinus. Father's endeavour lured craftsmen and merchants from the High Reaches, Marnas Pell and Vol Dorma. And so, Asariel slowly revived as a rural settlement with tall levees and a humble fenced centre. The place where Dorian spent his holiday whenever Father went to Minrathous in the summer.

When Radonis accepted Ferryman's Ring, he sent a clear message that he wouldn't mind being released from the umpleasant duty of appointing the next governor, especially that Father established his influence in the area for good. Which meant that Lord Pavus was free to stay as long as he saw fit, and to appoint the successors himself. Even to write the office over to an heir, because who would care about a tiny bit of nepotism once they'd got in Archon's good graces. Yes, Father must have licked Radonis's boots quite intensely at the time. Especially that Dorian was in his adolescence, finally showing _some_ promise to become a decent mage or statesman.

Listening to the entire story, Cato Augur grunted and clicked his teeth. "So, it is your father who actually ruled here? And now it's you? You people sit in the first row, don't you?"

"Father cared about his reputation, if that's your concern." As if he cared about anything else, as Dorian was sometimes tempted to think.

"So, there's a governor, and he's an Altus. When he dies, his son is appointed, and nobody bats an eye."

"If his governance has proved itself efficient, why not prolong it?"

"And what assured the Archon that you'll be as good as your father, eh?"

"That's an odd question", the magister snapped. He was Dorian of House Pavus. The finest traits of many genetations in a nutshell and, naturally, his father's son, with all the consequences. But instead of being proud of it, Dorian of House Pavus was smitten by deflating bitterness: a product of his ancestors, a cub with more luck than reason. What else could he be to all these people? Sure, there was all the excellence he was born into. But this time it was about his deeds, and he wasn't really prepared to govern. Outright self-appraisal would be too obvious a mascarade. "It's not the entire province, thank the Maker. I'm still under the Marnas Pell provincial governor. Even without titles, this place depends on the land rightfully belonging to my family."

"Riiight", he heard the veteran sneer.

Dorian looked away to turn his mind to the crinkled hills of the High Reaches. The rock cut through by wind and ages of piling up showed layers of black and red rock, entwined with wild cypress trees, shrouded with yellowish grass. The flora in this part of the Imperium was tingling and unforgivably dusting. Thank the Maker, stripweed had already withered out and for once Dorian didn't have to go through his annual uncurable hay fever.

"I don't want to pick a bone, magister, but there are many Laetan citizens who can't stand a chance because they're _their_ fathers' sons. In the end it is always and Altus cub who gets the promotion, or a patch of land", Augur looked at him from the corner of his bright eye, with uneven furrows showing on his forehead. "I'm not saying I want _you_ to fail, just giving some food for thought."

"That might be another thing which ought to change eventually", Dorian replied blandly, wrestling with the latest self-inflicted blow to his confidence. Well, of course he wouldn't be a good ruler _at once_. Why would he expect anything else?

"Yes, you well-set pals may all sympathise as much as you want, but would you _do_ anything about it?"

An inconvenient but fair question. How many of the Lucerni were willing to give a share of their privilege up if it turned out the right thing to do? Of course, Dorian himself wouldn't have such problems after years of pariah-hood. Would he? For him, privilege was just a tool.

"It won't hurt to try, with our overall groundbreaking attitude", he replied.

"Suppose that's something", the veteran grunted, spreading awkward silence until Dorian saw familiar posts by a side road. They entered the territory of Halvard Pavus's temporary victory over his opponents, victory over the wicked charm of blood magic. Another reminder that Dorian couldn't hold a candle to the image built with Father's accomplishments. All he could do was madly invoke the family name.

Just like in front of two guards who left the settlement to greet Dorian on the way. He had to perform the shameful ritual, show his birthright, conjure glory and prosperity in a formal salutation. Sadly, the nobility loved their symbolic trinkets even if their use was redundant. It always ended the same: Dorian had to look in his inferiors' eyes glimmering with a mixture of awe and mistrust. Augur's pauldrons and scars, for a change, only seemed to strike awe.

"Administrator Corbaldu invites Lord Pavus and his companion for a meal and a short inspection. Lady Phaedra promised to join as soon as she's done with her responisibilies."

Corbaldu considered himself strictly Andrastian, and that meant something completely different in Tevinter than it would in the South. Long after Hessarian's submission to the cult of the Maker, some houses still considered magical abilities a blessing from the Old Gods, and tolerated Andraste only as a wicked extension of their legacy. Corbaldu was strict in his beliefs in as much as he supported the unshaken dogma that magic entitled to supreme power. Apart from that, piety couldn't stop him from occasional usury and stashing undue literature like all the Tethras's bore. He was skilled in accounting, one must have given him that. Also, rather thrifty with other people's money. Father's friendliness for him remained unrequited until the end.

Ada Gabrielle Phaedra, the Mortalitasi, was a rare case of a Nevarran getting along with her Tevinter neighbours without mentioning an assault on the Silent Plains every SUnday. Always very sensitive to the Fade and the flow of spiritual energy around her, she turned out unfit to work in the Grand Necropolis. Asariel didn't make her life much easier, but with her gift she was able to foretell many magical dangers from subtle fluctuations of the Veil. Recently, she explained that energies from the Fade changed in her perception, carrying some kind of taint which exposed spirits to easier corruption. Nobody was able to approve or dismiss her mistrust so far, but considering recent events, everything was possible. Phaedra was terrified of doing anything wrong, and the acts of spirits' inobedience could have only intensified her worries.

Since Dorian's own odds turned out such a heavy insult to Father's honour, it was hard to believe how much eccentricity he was able to put up in Asariel. But to think of it, these people were there to obey Father's orders, not to incarnate his vision of a perfect mage and politician.

At least the view was lovely, with wavy meadows slowly taking the golden shade of early autumn. A few years in the South made Dorian fond of quaint, rural landscapes, perfect for lazy days spent on contemplative painting. A luxury he couldn't afford at the moment, in between his concerns about Asariel, delayed errands in Minrathous, and a vague reminder of an entity named some Reeds. Augur let the would-be assailant Igerna go for the time being, promising to let her stay as a maid and secret snitch in his little house as he eagerly followed Dorian to see Asariel.

"Most of this land is Father's. This road splits the fields between us and House Penarii of Marnas Pell. Corbaldu takes care of all the economy in Asariel and its share of trade across the region. Gabrielle Phaedra tends to the spirit servants and observes the Veil in the area. All the legal matters are left to us... to me, that is", Dorian sighed. "The town area is really austere. It holds governor's office, a Chantry, a marketplace, a few brownstones and a port. Nobody really stays there, apart from the brothers and a few _servi publici_... as if the soul of this town left long ago. Undoubtedly, the Veil is the thinnest on the coast. The common folk coming near to the sea get scared away by wisps, once in a while somebody has a vision from the past. Corpses and skeletons aren't uncommon. Enough to call the place haunted."

As the road split, they took the nicer path, leading straight to the thick town walls. A faint trace of mossy stone bricks, running across the fields about half a mile away from Asariel, reminded all the passerbies how far the town walls used to reach in its brightest days. The place was in a desperate need for more colour. It was mostly built of the bland, taupe stone from the Marches. The entrance opened up onto a tiny market square, enclosed by governor's office and a double chain of tall stone houses who all held workshops and market stalls on the ground floor. The architect didn't hesitate to give the governor's hall a copper dome and a pair of slender pilasters pointing at the sky, even in such a provincional environment. But old builders of Tevinter somehow preferred everything soaring, frightening and gold-encrusted. Spots of greenish mold gave the buildings their peculiar fusty atmosphere. Much sadder than Dorian remembered. Or was it he giving in to melancholy?

Stable boys took their horses, and the visitors from Minrathous climbed a broad flight of stairs, a necessary addition to every building representing Imperial power. The main rotunda hall was planned as a parlour, clad in friendlier white Kirkwall granite. A garden patch with a couple of dwarf palms in the centre was embraced by two symmetrical stone tables. Even more stairs crawled up, spiralling by the wall to the first floor where the governor and lesser civil servants from the Publicanium operated. Eight hundred years prior or so the place must have been thriving. "Five slaves for each clerk, ten at least to keep the garden, and one could tell the province was prosperous", as Mother once said. No surprise Father loved it, a perfect denial of the gloom on the outside.

A short, pasty, slouching man in simple black robes, public clerk's cap and pine green wool cape swiftly gave orders to a row of servants standing by the staircase. He raised his hands and faked laughter in pretentious courtesy, then rushed towards Dorian and his companion.

" _Vir clarissimus_! Welcome, welcome!"

"Please, spare me the titles, I've had enough of them for a lifetime", Dorian said with an equally fake smile as they shared a long handshake. "Let me introduce: Cato Lentulus Augur, the former governor of Alam, recently my safety advisor." Office Tevene had many glittering expressions to call a man, out adequately to his position. Augur conjured glory and prosperity and clunk his heels.

"Adalwin Flavius Corbaldu, economic administrator of Asariel, and Governor's right hand. Yes, yes, a pleasure. But sit down my lords, let us not talk standing", Corbaldu pointed at the table with copper tableware and hand-painted pottery. Bean soup they served a moment later didn't bode well.

"Will Aunt Gabrielle join us?", Dorian asked. The Mortalitasi always insisted that he called her so, which sounded like a blessing in his family circumstances. "She wished to share information which concerns me deeply."

"Enchanter Phaedra? Yes, yes, she's already in the town, she just won't come in her field uniform."

Dorian approach the soup with a sniffy wince, and he graded it as decent at best. Corbaldu took his hat off to reveal a mass of unruly silver hair.

"So, what brings you with a companion, my Lord?", Corbaldu asked.

"Ahh, I've heard that Magister has a fine patch of land nearby. Shame the town isn't more cheerful, but history must have beaten it pretty bad. As a strategist and farmland lover, I could offer some suggestions, if you both allow", Augur bowed to Corbaldu, letting him know with his usual intimidating grin that the old administrator could turn out expendable pretty soon.

They ate, listening to Corbaldu's deduction on last year's revenues, until the guards invited a lively woman in her fifties or so, gifted with golden-brown complexion and a visibly crooked nose. She wore a humble orchid purple tunic covering a leather suit. Her presence somehow changed the entire scene for the better.

"Maker's Goodness, Dorian, is that you? Last time we met was right before they sent you off to be schooled in Minrathous. I've heard you've seen quite a part of the world ever since", she said with a loud, vibrant voice before any of them managed to stand up and greet.

"You've barely changed, dear Aunt", Dorian replied and introduced Cato.

"Ah, only people in shroud and balm don't change", she gave Dorian a casual kiss on each cheek. "You've matured very much, what else was there to expect", the woman said with a scrutinizing but friendly tone. "And you look bloody important in all these garments", she added, pulling Dorian's crimson fabric sleeve.

"I am important. Taking Father's place, as he has always planned", he smiled bitterly in reply.

"Well, but you do have a head of your own? You don't really take after _him_." Gabrielle Phaedra asked for a cup of peppermint tea. "A horrible thing, your father's departure. We should talk about it later, in private."

"Why don't you stay for the second dish, Gabrielle. The guests need a little rest before we move on to inspect the area", Corbaldu suggested.

"Yes, there's no need to chase you back and forth through the fields right away..."

"Naturally. So, since you're here, may I know what you learned about your spirits, Aunt?", Dorian asked.

"Briefly speaking, the spirits started wandering off from their posts to a single patch of field with an abnormal Veil distortion. Have I mentioned that there were quite a few anomalies in this area during the last crisis? Including rifts."

"There was a rift in Asariel too?", Dorian squeezed his spoon tighter. From Inquisition's research data, he knew that the explosion in Haven resonated in many places simultaneously. The Breach appeared right after Dorian crossed the border of Nevarra on his way to the South, and he saw a rift or two somewhere in the Marches before a ship from Kirkwall took him across the Waking Sea. But the rifts appeared scarcely until he reached Ferelden, accumulating as he approached Haven. He was hoping that the anomaly didn't reach the Imperium. Could there be another factor making this possible? As if Alexius's experiments left their own mark on the Veil, right by the walls of Minrathous, to be gladly used by Corypheus's friends later on?

"There were quite many rifts wherever the Veil had already been weakened. Marnas Pell region has always had bad luck", Aunt Gabrielle shrugged. "I couldn't risk letting any of my spirits close to the anomalies, I had to watch them almost all the time. Can you imagine how exhausting it was? If a spirit bound to necromancer's will got overwhelmed with a wish to go back, it could get corrupted. Since that Breach, the Veil around the place has been more whimsical. It feels like something is still leaking, and spirits react to it. They start fooling themselves that they can go back to the Fade through the nearest rupture... It's a tad vague, I know, but I'm not sure how else to explain."

"And after the Breach was closed, what happened? The rifts subsided, yes?"

"Not exactly", countless tiny wrinkles appeared on Gabrielle's face as she squinted her eyes. "Demon spawning stopped, the lights disappeared, but the Veil still barely exists in some locations. I've been to Marnas Pell, and it's pretty much the same there. And I have no idea how to empower the Veil."

"Are you trying to tell me that the rifts which weren't closed by the Inquisitor herself have never really _closed_ , ony stopped leaking the Fade through?", Dorian put his cutlery down and leant his back against the chair. Did the Inquisition really miss it in reports from all around the world, or were they that much misinformed by Solas's forces?

"The Breach is gone but there's still a slit in the sky, it just isn't green and spooky anymore. Seems it's the same with the rifts, just on a smaller scale. Maybe the Veil will restructure itself in time. Maybe it won't. I can't tell", Gabrielle Phaedra shook her head.

"We've made attempts to stabilize the Veil in the South, maybe something similar can be done here. I must see the place later." Needless to say, the greatest expert on the Veil wasn't the friendliest type anymore. Perhaps Lavellan and Dagna could figure something out. Another person Dorian could consult wasn't exactly an enemy, but the memories left a similar bitter aftertaste. Even though, Dorian knew that the person in concern had some guesses about Solas's devices. If Enchanter Trevelyan didn't know what to do, who did?

"The matter appears urgent. I'm sure you'll understand, Administrator", Dorian bowed his head in apology. "Unless we're facing an economic disaster as well, you can introduce me to less urgent affairs tomorrow. For now, I'd rather aid our dear Gabrielle."

They finished their lamb and moved out a few miles to the North, to the place shown by Aunt, a desolate meadow with a view on the sea. The Mortalitasi poked Dorian's arm and pointed at an old pine struck by a lightning, trembling despite windless weather.

"Seems like one of my pets is trying to take the tree."

An ethereral, milky shape danced around the pine, chipping the bark away from its dry branches.

"What are you doing here, dear?", Gabrielle asked the spirit. It replied with a silent murmur resembling many people trying to speak at once:

"Flashes from the past, destroyed, gone. They waited for flowers to bloom, and they loved the smell of resin. If the tree lives again, maybe people will come back." The spirit sounded more than familiar, as if the cryptic, poetic tone was peculiar to all of them. Gabrielle pulled her ritual skull out of the bag, one with pieces of nevarrite in its eyeballs. The relic glowed in deep indigo when Aunt Gabrielle spoke back to the spirit:

"I'm afraid nobody pities that abandoned tree anymore. Weren't you supposed to tend to the lighthouse? When the fire burns, merchants from Marnas Pell and Vyrantium know they can stop by in our port. That's a better way to bring people hope. Now, obey my command!"

The spirit whisked away, allowing them to approach. Dorian could sense the faint savour of incense accompanying many necromancer spells. The Veil was bending and dancing like smoke.

"Everybody, can you feel this?", he asked, laying his hand on the tree bark.

"The Veil's like the Eyes of Nocen after seeing a dreadnought", Augur grunted.

"I tell you, some kind of power has been dripping from the Fade, leaving things like this – distant memories, forgotten images. For the last few years, I've felt it linger around me and my spirits. Then that Breach opened up, and things went completely out of hand. Spirits lose orientation when they get immersed in these mirage, I think", Gabrielle said. "The pine is exactly where the rift appeared."

Dorian pictured green bolts of energy coming from tree's hollow, spewing slender demon figures. Inside, there were still tiny bottle green crystals of the substance which held the Fade together.

"May I have a quick conversation through a crystal device?", Dorian asked.

The company looked at each other inquisitively, but as soon as the magister pulled his communication crystal out, the device burst with crackling and buzzing sounds.

"Is that a dwarven remote sound amplifier? It's useless here. Fade noises overrun everything", Phaedra said. The magister hid the crystal deep behind his belt. He couldn't share the news with the Inquisitor for now. In that case, he had no choice but to write to the only Fade theorist he knew other than Fen'Harel himself. Contacting Angus Trevelyan out of the blue didn't seem like the most joyful endeavour. Dorian shrugged at the thought of composing another stiff letter, bending over backwards to avoid the most difficult topics. Still, maybe he'd figure something out with Asariel's court necromancer.

"Aunt Gabrielle, I invite you to the family estate so we could think about it together. I have several friends from the Inquisition who might help. I hope Father's books on spirit magic aren't gone. I'd also like to show lord Augur our family's orchards." Rummaging through Father's library could give Dorian a sense of adventure, unlike Corbaldu's financial musings.

"It would be nice to see if it still stands", she nodded.

The estate stood firm where it was supposed to, set astir by wine harvest season. With piles of books and his own winery, Dorian could disappear there with delight whenever he got tired of his city life. Shame the place wasn't further to the South. It would be perfect to entertain Bull and Dorian's friends, if it wasn't for the necessity to take the Imperial Highway to get there. Sneaking the Inquisitor in would be risky, Bull with all the Charges – nearly impossible, just as the prospect of Dorian's _amatus_ leaving his band on their own, for weeks, in Nevarra. No, in Asariel Dorian was left with the company of his rare friends from Tevinter.

Through a wide cobblestone gate, they entered the spacious front yard with gravel paths spread between three main buildings: the winery, servant premises and the Pavus estate. Slaves bustled about, unloading crates with freshly picked grapes from ox carriages. Dorian and his companions crossed the portico covered in white stucco to enter the main hall, laid on with sienna and sand-coloured tiles.

"It's refreshing to see more quaint, rustic style from time to time. One can go crazy with these black towers popping out from every corner in, like, half of Minrathous", the magister sighed. "Let's go to the garden, shall we?"

A chilling draught led them to a little square shrubbery enclosed by cobblestone wall and a white pergola. It was just as Dorian remembered: with a birdbath in the centre, wood benches covered in silk pillows, and a table under a crawling rose bush.

"Reminds me of my family home, only with more utility buildings. We did most of the work ourselves. My mother kept vegetables in a covered garden like this", Cato said. "A good place to retire."

"That's highly unlikely for now, at least in my case", Dorian sighed. "Can't say I'm too eager to rule this forsaken town. On the other hand, as long as the spirit problem persists, my presence appears invaluable."

"If you deal with the problem, you'll only solidify your reputation in Minrathous, and possibly also your faction's standing. Since you want to act, you should turn every card to your advantage. Like in the battlefield", Augur said. "You wanted me to advise you, you've got me in the matters of governance."

"A war-oriented advisor in politics? Things must be hot for you out there", Aunt Gabrielle looked at Augur from the corner of her eye. "You two aren't going on Seheron with the next assault, I hope? I'm not quite prepared for another funeral in the family."

"Actually, I was half-hoping for peace when I got there. Life corrected that mistake", Augur grunted.

"Don't worry, I won't let anybody get me until I get Father's murderers myself', Dorian said.

"But yes, your father. If we may speak without restrains, of course." Augur flagged his hand down and nodded in consent.

"It was thoughtful, I must say that. They left a message suitable for a fundamentalist group, but it might as well be a cover. Somehow, they knew exactly when Father was supposed to move between Minrathous and Asariel. Somehow, they ignored all the false rumours spread by our house agents and led Father on straight into an ambush. Perhaps they were here too. If so, then maybe they left traces", Dorian spoke.

"My boy, you do realise who stands behind the majority of agents from the house, making any spymaster feel redundant", Aunt Gabrielle said in all seriousness.

"Of course I do", Dorian snapped. "Queen of natural disasters, as they say, because that's how her wrath usually strikes the enemies. The Black Heart of Quarinus. She invites me on a party quite soon, to show everyone that she's my best friend and approves of my return. And I can't afford to refuse", lines crossing Dorian's forehead showed up.

"Do you think it's likely...", Gabrielle tilted her head with understanding.

"That... is the last option I'd like to consider", Dorian replied, lowering his head. "I know my parents hated each other. I realise that the entire situation brought my Mother great avail. But this... this appears too obvious. Father had his own circle, and they wouldn't let her live in peace if she caused Father any iniquity. Even if she tried to harm him, there were so many opportunities since I left home for good. Would she allow Father to seek me out in the South? Would she compromise herself in the most obnoxious way as I was about to come back home? If it was Mother threatening him, he'd rather insist to spend more time with me, to use me as a shield. He was capable of such displays. But he found me an assignment away from Tevinter. I tell you more, he would change the last will to leave Mother out, I'm sure of that. He wouldn't hesitate to turn Octavius Herathinos and their whole house against her. But this time it looked like he tried to protect us both", Dorian thought out loud, spoiling some little bird's whistle with grevious suggestions. If there was a grain of truth in these suspicions, if Mother had been hiding for so many years a plot to slaughter her husband – how could Dorian keep on living among the walls these two used to occupy? How could he be the proud head of a house suspended in murderous intent? Funny how many arguments he could find to cover up for his Mother nonetheless. As if she was the last sacrosanct justifying Dorian's presence in that exalted nest of vipers.

"Seems that your reputation depends on your mother's approval for now, and that's nasty", Augur replied. "You wouldn't touch her even if you found evidence." Would Mother really condemn Dorian to such torture, deceive him and laugh in his face just to secure her independence? After all these years, he had no idea what kind of woman she was on the inside. Whether she would resort to such cruelty.

"Then, why did she warn me about the mole in our spy ring? Could it be just a cover? Maker, what was I thrown into", Dorian breathed out. First some old grudges gnawing his self-confidence, then the newly emerged suspicion, much uncalled for, much too soon.

"Well, we shouldn't jump to conclusions at that point. The fundamentalist lead isn't pointless either. We've exposed an assassin from a group named Calpurnia's Reeds, but we don't know yet how they could be connected with the Magister. Have you heard of them, my Lady?", Augur asked. Aunt Gabrielle shook her head.

"I'm no good at all these nuances of Tevinter religion. Enough that remains of the old cults in your beliefs led to the great schism in the Chantry", she made a grimace of disappointment. "But there's no need to bring the schism here, I've been living in Tevinter long enough. At any rate, you _should_ search the estate for traces, while I can rummage through my old notes. And Halward's collection, if you allow me."

In the days to come, disclosing Asariel's knowledge seemed most likely to become Dorian's main concern.

**Author's Note:**

> ON HIATUS until I'm finished with the prequel. This story will be rewritten to match the Inquisition plot covered in _If I ever return to Minrathous..._


End file.
